Things to Run Away From Really Fast

There are a series of beautiful houses and construction sites. My dad is doing work on his own house.

I'm a child walking with Wednesday and Pugsley Addams. I forgot my sunglasses, so hold up my hands and say "Accio, glasses."

"That should only work if you say 'sunglasses,'" points out Wednesday.

"I knew what I meant," I shrug.

The cast of the Addams Family now fused with the whole crew of lovingly dysfunctional people who raised me. It's weird.

Now it's the finale of this version of the series, and there's a wooden automaton that accepts that it's "his time." He sits in the mud bath and waits to fall apart.

(Except that this was all part of his plan, and the reason that he has bad eyesight is because his real eyes are hanging from the earrings of the trickster god who has been working "with" the bad guys. He has one last chance to take the band of bloodthirsty pirates out before he moves on to the next world...)

Wednesday and I are adults now, and we're talking about getting married.

I'm in my teenage home. I realize that I'm dreaming, and spend some time looking at how weird some of the angles and perspective are in this dream.