Any Joseph's in the house?
I've had this dream since I was little, but I've had it every night this week and it's more pronounced. It nags me while I'm awake. I'm exhausted tired with whatever my mind is trying to tell me.
I'll spare you the boring details (wanna come over for a slide show of our latest holiday while I tell you about my crazy dreams?).
The gist of it is:
I am looking at a house (very much like real life-- call me The Moving Queen).
It's either too late for me to have the house because we've chosen another, or I can't afford the house. A few times I am actually renting a room in the house.
The house is always a little run down, but I can see beyond the work to the magic of what is. Uneven floors, hazardous stairs, poor design never deter me.
As I wander through it, I find secret rooms or passageways I didn't know existed. It just makes me want it more.
Sometimes there's treasures left behind. I don't mean gold or jewelry, I mean sentimental things from someone's life, like letters that give me a glimpse into the person who once owned the house.
I always wake up a little melancholy from having left.
If it matters... when I was small, growing up in a tiny town on the Arizona border, I would often shout out to my parents as we passed a desert area on the way into Utah. I would tell them the house I dreamed about was out there. I swore that we had been to it, I could describe the yellow gingham curtains hanging on the kitchen door window.
As I got older, I found a house in the little Utah town that had been abandoned and I fell in love with it. I took photos of it every time we were over there. It was just a given that after our dentist appointments, shopping, lunch day, we would swing by to look at the house before we went.
When I was in high school, someone bought the house and fixed it up. I was devastated.
The houses I dream of and the the houses of my childhood aren't the same. It's a symbol and apparently I'm pretty thick and just not getting it.