I had a terrible, weird dream the other night.
Denise and I decided for some strange reason to look for a new house. To do that, we had to sell our house. So we put the house up for sale and got an offer right away.
But then, because the other people had to sell their own house, we kept showing our house to other people. Like, a zillion times and cleaning every time. And then somebody else bought our house because they could do it quicker, because they didn’t have a house to sell.
And then, we had to find a rental, because we still hadn’t found a new house to move to. So we found a townhouse that was nice and we got ready to move to it. And we threw out all kinds of stuff so we could fit into this little townhouse.
So then in the dream, we moved. And it took like, vanload after vanload, and moving van after moving van. And it took so long that we didn’t have time to clean for the people moving in. So, like, we still had stuff to move just before the people bought the house, so we moved everything and cleaned like madmen all night to get everything ready for the new people. Or at least zombie-like madmen, because this all dragged on so long that everything was like that slow motion stuff in dreams.
And the worst was that we moved so much stuff that we filled the rental to the gills, and then we couldn’t walk around in it anymore. It was like the movies, where the house is so full of popcorn or something that you can’t go inside. But it was all our stuff from the house.
And then the people actually bought our house, and we went back to the little townhouse, because we still weren’t sure where we would really move to. And as we sat down in this little townhouse exhausted, we heard all these cars and trucks zooming around, and we looked out back and noticed that the townhouse backed up to a superhighway with constant traffic. So we pretended the cars and trucks were ocean waves on the beach and tried to go to sleep.
UPDATE: Um–hey, guess what? IT WASN’T A DREAM.
I’m really up feces tributary without any visible means of propulsion, aren’t I?