Last night I dreamed that my family decided to sell our house and move into a floating house – it was a massive, several storey victorian house with original flooring and moldings and filled with antique furniture. And it was floated on a little lake in the city.
We moved in and I was going from room to room enchanted with everything that was in it. There was a lofted sitting room with a windowed interior wall overlooking a grand staircase. I was admiring the 100 year old hardwood and it was vivid. I was admiring the grain, noting it was oak, loving the finish. But then I noticed that in the gaps between some of the boards, I could see the water below.
And then we were finding a whole bunch of shoddy work and repairs that needed doing.
And then it was haunted.
And then on fire.
So. I don’t know what any of that means. But I did spend today shopping a lot of antiques. And then spent my evening feeling haunted by the past. And then crying and fighting with everyone. Nothing is on fire. Yet.