Signet

6-6-11

D1:

[I don’t remember. Sorry!]


D2:
An extensive dream, of which I remember almost nothing.

My, my brother, and my parents were all at some old guy’s house. The house itself I don’t remember very well, though I get the feeling it was a ranch-style house.
The old guy was… well… an old guy. With an old wife. And an old dog. (I think)
Anyways, the only scene I remember really wasn’t a scene, since all I did in it was explore this one room in, or rather, adjacent to the house.
The room was more of a shed, like a Morton Building, and the walls were corrugated sheet metal. The floor and foundation was concrete, and the north and south edges of the floor were raised about four feet for four feet of depth. Kind of like a counter going along the side walls. The south Edge was also raised, but only about a foot or two. (This was the wall that had the door to the house.)
The room (it was a workshop) measured roughly 30’ by 40’ and had various tools, implements, and, more than everything else, paint cans cluttering the concrete ledges on the north and south. The east wall had a large garage door like you’d see in a fire station set in it, and, though I couldn’t see through the higher-up windows, I somehow knew that there was a desert outside it. This probably comes from visits I had at my grandpa’s house in the Mojave Desert in southern California. Odd that I’d have it in a dream, since he died six-or-so years ago.
The ceiling on the south two-thirds of this room, the shop, was a ten-foot ceiling and black. It was such a tone of black that, since I wasn’t paying much attention to it, I don’t remember any details about it. On the northern one-third, the ceiling was the shallow-gabled roof of a Morton Building.
In the dream, my perspective was by to the east wall, next to the raise in the concrete. At that point in the clutter, there was a space made in all the paint cans and a blanket, sleeping bag, and pillow were set out. They were an alternative bed to the main focus of the room: the hanging box.
The hanging box, as I dubbed it when I woke up, was just that: a hanging box. It was about the size of a large house refrigerator box, but made of wood and covered in either carpet or Astroturf. It was suspended from the ceiling by a 1/4"-link chain (though, since it was in the south side of the shop, I couldn’t see how it was affixed to the ceiling), and it had a wooden stepladder leading up to the west rim of it. I’d say the bottom of the box was five feet off the floor.
The really weird thin g about the box is that it was where the old guy slept. Therefore, in my dream-world of that night, the old man would have to nightly ascend the stepladder and get in his ‘box’ to go to bed. And the makeshift bed on the east wall apparently wasn’t an alternative, because I was supposed to sleep there.



Well, there you go. One more overly-detailed dream retelling. Just like Victor Hugh and highschool: Too many details, not enough plot.