Wednesday, 23 November 2016

Dream Diary 23.11.2016

A mess of anxieties.

Fiona and I go into the garden at work to help the decorators paint the entire back facing surface of the house white. We are on the second layer. It looks horrible. We realise it is an undercoat and that the objective is to probably sell the house. We see a ghost-like hand holding a folder through one of the windows, and realise that the folder probably contains a missing CQC report. The house continues to be painted white but I become slowly aware that I need to be a long way from it in order to reconcile some things. I don't now know what they are, but I go out along the south coast on a train, and the train takes me to made up ends of the line where trains only travel to small villages and there is no way to get back. The train is at Barnham, which isn't the real Barnham because it is in a corner surrounded by the sea and there's a volcano there waiting to erupt very soon but all the trains take me to dead ends and place I can't go.  Eventually somehow     I'm at     my secondary school where there's a fringe festival and the show we see involves sitting on a chair on a metal rope that spins up to the top of a building then back down. The volcano is still going to go off and may be nearer than it is in reality but Megan wants us to explore the fringe, there's nothing there except for my mum and dad who have a new dog which is like a small Alsatian and has an automated feeding system. I have to get back to Brighton and do, and at that point a man is asking me to recommend a plumber, whom I call Franks. I've no idea who he is but we're in a new flat I don't leave in I am there alone with the plumber looking for Dolly out of the window which is a cliff top view of the sea and we do impressions of characters from little Britain. I notice right on the edge of the cliff there is a person holding the same envelope from the beginning of the dream and I feel sick seeing it, a sudden horrific dread spreading through my body. A workmate, Sam, arrives to babysit me for the evening on the instruction of the plumber, which I explain is unnecessary but Sam explains that the flight I took has left me vulnerable. But then I have to explain over the phone to my dad that two police officers had been attacked by teenagers in London and he says he thinks the police officers should ought to have been shot. I begin to realise for a moment I was dreaming, but was sent on an act of anti gentrification sabotage in Peckham. Harvey had a little house, about the size of a human but on a table, and he was trying to install miniature generators in it. For some reason I had to disrupt him, and that was the protest. I started pulling wires out and he was obviously suspicious of me until I showed him my similar tiny house which I was renting near to his. He explained he would hate to live like that, and that in a sewer in a made up South American country he had found a huge sum of money which allowed him to buy the tiny house. I began uncontrollably crying. Then we went to my old school where there was a fringe festival, a chair on a metal rope which is more like a pole and we all get on the chair as it swerves in terrifying spirals up to the roof and back to the ground, all the while feeling it will all end, that I will return to work tomorrow to find that it has gone, that the operation has been shut down and the house which is perhaps the same height that I am but stood on a stand or table has been sold for over a million pounds, the cruel view over the edge of the cliffs, the envelope to the left but somehow at its centre waving in the wind framed by the edge of the road, the cliffs and the sea.

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