Chris Walsh (chris_walsh) wrote,
Chris Walsh

Another dream entry! Aren’t you lucky?!

As far as I know, I’d never dreamed of this house until last night.

That’s kind of surprising. It was a dramatic house, the one I moved into when I first moved to Portland in 2001. It’s near SE 50th and Hawthorne, 10 blocks west of Mt. Tabor, and had been converted to have two bedrooms in the basement, two bedrooms on the main floor, and a suite on the top floor.

It was dramatic because of the other people who lived there: I shared the basement with a guy who caused some of that drama. I moved out because another man caused more drama. It was the drama he caused on top of the drama the other guy caused that led me to leave. Six weeks passed between me thinking I need to get out of here (early July 2002) and me getting out of there (second half of August 2002).

And while I sometimes think of that house, I’d never dreamed about it. But last night, Dream-Me went there. Drove to it, parked around the corner (a neighbor watched me), and entered like I still lived there, even though in the dream I knew I didn’t.

I justified it by telling myself I’m here to see the landlord, but I wasn’t (and I’m not) sure if the same landlord, a woman named Ann*, still owns it. Two guys were inside, who didn’t seem to question or mind me being there, and I started reading an art book. It felt illicit and weird, and Dream-Me was on edge. Never actually ran into the landlord before I awoke.

And yes, I think I know why I dreamed about that house in particular. But I’m not telling you.

* Not quite her real name.
Tags: dreams

  • A quick poem for tonight

    12/31/2021: Eight-ish by Christopher Walsh The Year Exchange is in progress: Three hundred sixty-four and five-sixths days done With 2021 about…

  • A three-line poem

    A Not-Easy Thought by Christopher Walsh, 12/9/2021 Oh, yeah: it’d be that easy to hurt someone.

  • Dancing About

    Dancing About by Christopher Walsh, 11/23/2021-12/1/2021 Some dancers probably could dance about architecture — Moving to suggest the power of…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.