Dream Journal
03/17/2014 08:58 p.m.
I used to keep a dream journal but didn't have a hard copy and lost the software version due to a computer issue (long story). After that, I didn't have the heart to start a new one until today. So anyway, the dream I recorded was very involved and, for no particular reason, I thought I'd share it here:

I was in my childhood home, which had somehow come into my possesion by inheritance or something. It was darker than I remembered, and as the dream progressed it began to grow vaguely shabby. I don't remember how this dream started but early on I went down to the basement where there was now a swimming pool. Though it looked to be of regulation length, when I dove in and subsequently surfaced, I was already approaching the opposite wall. I then took one breath, made a flip turn, pushed off, and when I surfaced again, I was already approaching the previous side. I thought to myself, how strange that I only need to take one breath in order to swim a length of this pool. When I pulled myself out of the pool, my mother was there. She told me in a very dry and matter of fact voice that the only reason they'd put in a diving pool and diving board was because it was required by law, otherwise they would have skipped it. At which point I turned and looked at the deeper diving pool, situated at a right angle to the shallower swimming pool. I hadn't remembered any of this, or that the basement had been so huge, but I was pleased to find it so.

Going upstairs again, an acquaintance told me we were late for the bowling tournament. This part of the dream is hazy and confused, but we found the bowling alley in Sioux Falls and apparently did quite well in the tournament. I remember thinking how wonderful it was that I could still bowl so well, like I did when I was younger. (In reality, I only bowled for one year and just barely got my average up to 130 before I quit due to arthritis). Then we returned to the house. I seemed to be accompanied by a number of people, though I didn't know who any of them were. Faceless acquaintances, I guess.

Entering the house, we went directly to its dining area. As before, the ambient light continued to grow dimmer and the house was becoming shabbier by the minute. The walls seemed to be made of flimsy plywood that was beginning to pull away from the studs. Everything was gray and shadowy (the actual house of my childhood was painted gray but spacious and full of windows). I noticed that the room we were in was too small, that an alcove had been sloppily cut off by a warped plywood barrier pretending to be an actual wall. I thought to myself, how odd that I hadn't noticed this earlier. Then I pictured in my head what this room looked like without the barrier. And I became curious, so I looked through a space in the barrier where the plywood was particularly warped. What I saw was was a beautiful deli counter, situated in a very clean and modern, upscale mall-like setting. All the surfaces gleamed, though the lighting here was dim as well, though in this case it was as if it were past closing time and only a few coningency lights were left burning through the nighttime hours. The deli counter was situated directly opposite the plywood barrier I was peering through; it appeared to exist in the midst of a much larger space, but to my left there was nothing but darkness. To my right, however, there was light.

Without actually removing the barrier, I found myself standing on the other side. Looking to the right, I saw a restaurant situated toward the end of a very wide corridor. Though dimly lit, it seemed to be open for business. To the left of that was a high class bar, with expensive looking tables that spilled out into the corridor. The decor throughout this entire space was extremely tasteful and elegant. At this point, I noticed that the deli was now lit up and open for business, though untended. Even so, it was not lit brightly, just sort of elegantly. In this setting, the increasing dimness, that had begun to feel dingy and almost oppressive in my house, had a luxurious glow to it, exuding a sense of dignified wealth that I found very attractive.

At this point, an Italian chef from the restaurant approached me, motioned to the bar with his hand and suggested that I take a seat. He had a gleam in his eye and seemed to be passionate about eveything he did, though he projected this through a calm and confidant manner. I thought to myself, how wonderful to find this magnificent space in my house. Why hadn't I seen it before, and why had it been walled off? But I must have spoken this aloud because on hearing what I said, the man's eyes lit up and he smiled enigmatically. At which point I awoke.