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Dream Log: January 18, 2002 (place) posted: Sat 2014-03-29 05:32:28 tags: dreams
After doing my thing at the office all day, I am tired. Nothing sounds better than curling up somewhere in our hosts' home, with a pass at the eternal buffet laid out in the lowest living room.

The home of the family hosting mine is like a modern-day wizards' tower, perhaps a Frank Lloyd Wright design, of stucco and red brick shingle and glass, nestled among green hills and palm trees. Everyone else is already there, I let myself in and say my hellos and climb the stairs to the kitchen. There is music playing and our sparkling women are serving beverages, tidying, setting the radio.

I continue my ascent up the house; it is all split level, in place of stairs between some levels there are carpeted ladders. I have never been all the way to the top, but I'm pretty sure I have explored all the other ascents. I climb to her bedroom, very sleepy now and tempted to just tumble into her bed on the good chance no one will bother me for a few hours. The father is in the stairwell and engages me in chat about my work and the people I've met. It would be unseemly both to get in his daughter's bed and to refuse his conversation, so I climb, following him, to the TV room. This is a screened porch, with 8 televisions arranged equidistant at the corners and centers of the rectangular room. I am fascinated how alternating screens show different camera angles on the news anchor or advertisement model; the filter / mixer array set in the wall apposite the door catches my attention, now, and I stand and sway, eyes closed, swaying like trance music when I'm smoked up, trying to comprehend the rows of tiny dials and sliders and LEDs.

There are no comfortable resting spots here, and people will be arriving shortly with plates of food and changing channels and making too much noise. I continue my climb past utility closets and bathrooms, drawing rooms and dens, passing the old man on the stair. He is dying, but even though I'm getting a workout climbing, he sticks right behind me.

The topmost room has a cold fireplace, overstuffed couches, and a window that shows the tops of the few old palms taller than the house. I'm aware of feeling very sexy now in addition to so so sleepy. The old man hints that his infirmity doesn't permit him to give his wife all the hot lovin' she might want.

I wake, aware of calculating ages: daughter half my age, me mid-30's, father 70 or 75, wife maybe 55.