I dream I'm in bed with this guy, a freelance writer in the community. We're kissing but he stops to talk because he's not so into it. He starts telling me what he does with his day, his writing routine, and he wants to hear about mine. I realise he's trying to get himself aroused. 'No really, how do you spend your actual time? What do you do?'
I realise I only have one honest answer. 'Admin.'
That's the end of that.
--
A dream where I'm remembering the different places I've lived, trying to think about the kind of place I like, in conversation with my dad. We're at this casual afternoon party in a rambling farmhouse yard. We talk about the houses by the sea, that it was sometimes so lonely and frightening to see huge uncontrollable waves coming in, to know that something was wrong with the tides and the weather and that the tiny house on the edge could be swept away. I wonder if there was any place where I've looked out the window and felt peaceful, that everything was okay. And I think no, the reason these places are available for me to rent is because the owners have moved on, because something was wrong, and the weather's fucked everywhere now anyway. My dad says what about those places owned by Tina, were they a bit rough were they?
And I say actually no, they were nice, scruffy but they had sunlight and gardens, open windows, flowers in the house. A bit like this place.
We go close to the stereo at the centre of the party to hear the music. I put my ear close to the stereo and it's tango music. My dad's right there, we're communicating without necessarily speaking about the complexity of the music, its structures and features. I know these rather than him but he understands what I'm explaining.
Then I'm in a train. There is a young guy there who has trouble speaking, he might be retarded. He's big and strapping, I want to kiss him but I think I should think twice, it will mean that we end up getting married. My mother is there watching, too, and she will disapprove. He's trying to ask me something - eventually I get it. He's asking if I can make him a sweat-shirt jacket that would zip on to the collar he's made for himself. He already has one jacket that he's made but he wants a different one. He shows me the collar and it's really inventive and neatly made - it has compartments front and back, a hood, everything zips on and off. It's great and I realise he's really bright in an unusual way. I want to make the jacket and I want to hug him and kiss him. He's showing me he his photos on his camera and I realise he's a time-traveller - the photos are late 19th, early 20th C and he's in them. While he's showing me I realise my mother is right there taking photos of his camera as it flashes up photos and dates. She's collecting evidence in a hostile sort of way.
I realise I only have one honest answer. 'Admin.'
That's the end of that.
--
A dream where I'm remembering the different places I've lived, trying to think about the kind of place I like, in conversation with my dad. We're at this casual afternoon party in a rambling farmhouse yard. We talk about the houses by the sea, that it was sometimes so lonely and frightening to see huge uncontrollable waves coming in, to know that something was wrong with the tides and the weather and that the tiny house on the edge could be swept away. I wonder if there was any place where I've looked out the window and felt peaceful, that everything was okay. And I think no, the reason these places are available for me to rent is because the owners have moved on, because something was wrong, and the weather's fucked everywhere now anyway. My dad says what about those places owned by Tina, were they a bit rough were they?
And I say actually no, they were nice, scruffy but they had sunlight and gardens, open windows, flowers in the house. A bit like this place.
We go close to the stereo at the centre of the party to hear the music. I put my ear close to the stereo and it's tango music. My dad's right there, we're communicating without necessarily speaking about the complexity of the music, its structures and features. I know these rather than him but he understands what I'm explaining.
Then I'm in a train. There is a young guy there who has trouble speaking, he might be retarded. He's big and strapping, I want to kiss him but I think I should think twice, it will mean that we end up getting married. My mother is there watching, too, and she will disapprove. He's trying to ask me something - eventually I get it. He's asking if I can make him a sweat-shirt jacket that would zip on to the collar he's made for himself. He already has one jacket that he's made but he wants a different one. He shows me the collar and it's really inventive and neatly made - it has compartments front and back, a hood, everything zips on and off. It's great and I realise he's really bright in an unusual way. I want to make the jacket and I want to hug him and kiss him. He's showing me he his photos on his camera and I realise he's a time-traveller - the photos are late 19th, early 20th C and he's in them. While he's showing me I realise my mother is right there taking photos of his camera as it flashes up photos and dates. She's collecting evidence in a hostile sort of way.
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