Morning of February 3, 2015. Tuesday.
Over the past two years or so, my dream universe has insisted on rendering a fictional location that usually has mostly the same features. Although it seems like a basement, it is usually accessed at ground level through an open area (somewhat like a garage with no door) from the west side of the house. The main feature is a pipe that goes up to the implied bathroom above (second floor) and is almost always implied to be knocked slightly to one side, causing a leak. This pipe is near the center of the room rather than along a wall or corner and is often rendered too narrow to logically function as implied in-dream. It is possible the pipe represents either my digestive system or circulatory system and relates to concerns with “plumbing” upon getting older (either “clogged” arteries or incomplete digestion). In this dream though, the “basement” (again, at ground level) seems less damp and less problematic concerning the pipe and this time there is no indication of a “recent” leak.
Once again, it seems to be a composite of the Loomis Street house with fictional layout details concerning the southwest corner that in real life was otherwise an inside staircase in part (in addition to downstairs features of the separate first floor residence, such as the small laundry room). It is somewhat curious that it is also relative to where I was ready to rent the apartment (upstairs) when my wife-to-be and I first made contact, but instead, I came to Australia. Still, I am not sure this is relevant or maybe even a residual alternate time-line association.
Fictional neighbors live south of us (in the Loomis Street context). The events take place seemingly later at night. There is an idea that the neighbor had used a (fictional) bathroom somehow accessed via the south side of our house directly from outside and I think something about mowing over a part of our garden on that side previously. Later, he is telling me that he is going to report us for being from Afghanistan, which makes absolutely no sense in any context.
I tell him that when I was younger and growing up in Florida, I was always called rude (slang) Asian names by the majority of the population even though I have no Asian heritage (all of which is true). I tell him that people like him have no credibility and that the majority of people cannot even see or understand anything, which is actually the way things have been from my perspective since early childhood. It is strange living in a world where hardly anything is ever seen or related correctly. We do not fight and there is no violence. I just tell him a few things about myself as my dream fades. We mostly remain in the side yards between the houses.
