In the house, in the city, but the upstairs has changed radically, floorboards replaced with cushions and tiles. Some people are preparing for a trip. Michelle is one, another resembles Alex, but through the melted glass his face is obscured. Also, he wears a hat. Michelle is looking for Chris, he is nowhere to be seen. He was around earlier but left, dressed in a long beige overcoat, the stereotypical look of a private dick. I try to assist the search for the unexplained trip, but am prevented from doing so by boxes cluttering the stairway.
In the past few weeks I was getting a little worried that my lack of memorable midnight recollections would end this chart of nocturnal wanderings, but in the last week or so, I have remembered around 3 dreams a night; in the process of doing so, I have started using my phone to note things down rather than a pad and pen, and then email myself so I actually remember I have the material. Remembering is half the battle. This dream I thought pertinent as I have just finished marking student essays for Spring Term (and presumably this is what inspired it) 'I am circling some sort of warehouse, possibly owned and run by Argos. Inside, a number of my students have killed a man by beating him to death. They now fall about laughing whilst bouncing off inflatable children’s toys. I try to remain stoic in the face of horror, concerned that I may be next. I talk to them a while, and on finding out that ____ is their ring leader, I try to escape. Every path leads back to the warehouse. Insi...
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