Blue_Opossum

Morning of March 16, 2014. Sunday.

Dream #: 17,254-04. Reading time: 1 min 15 sec.



I am unsure where I am living. I seem to be my present age, though I am also in a house with a character that looks like my father at certain times. Zsuzsanna is living here and maybe my mother. The house is somewhat like the one from Barolin Street.

I move a few of my belongings to maintain order. At one point, I see the furniture is in a different arrangement, and I am angry (although the rooms are tidy). I yell about how things have been changed and plan on moving everything back the way it was. It was my “father” that did this. (I have never yelled at my father in real life. We had a positive spiritual relationship.)

My “father” is varied each time, with his head an odd shape and with a different face. There is a scene where he resembles him more. His legs seem to grow thinner, and he may be having a fit. I ask him several times if he needs an ambulance.

Two couches, chairs, some of my belongings, and bookcases are in the center of a room in a pile. Zsuzsanna seems annoyed. He seems to have done it as an act against the criticism received from moving the furniture in the previous scene.

I am concerned about where everything is. There is a point where my “father” hits me but lightly, by punching my cheek, barely making an impact. (It seems to be the Barolin Street kitchen). (My father never hit me in real life.) I create a drama about a court case as the result of this action, asking Zsuzsanna to “call my lawyer.” (I never had a lawyer in real life.) I call my “father” a skinny “punk.” At this point, he seems much younger than me; a blonde Caucasian, barely older than a ninth-grader. His clothes change throughout as well.

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