“…non-stop all day and all-night there were strangers coming in…”
(Male) I know they say that houses in dreams are supposed to represent the dreamer but if so, this is really messed up.
I was living in a house that was pretty much a lot like the one I do own, one about a hundred years old with lots of nice woodwork but a little run down in places. Except the house in my dream also had a full sized auditorium attached to it. The auditorium could seat a couple hundred people in long ornately carved benches. It was acoustically perfect too, like a concert hall or a chapel. There was a place for a choir to practice and downstairs, there were practice rooms large enough to rehearse for a theatre piece. Cool, right?
Except non-stop all day and all-night there were strangers coming in to this auditorium that was part of my house. They made noise constantly. I tried to explain to them that this was my house, that I actually owned this house and they needed at least to treat me with some respect. But nobody did. There was one group it was a choir made up of EVERY secretary in town. A couple dozen at least. Before they started their rehearsal I tried to find out who was in charge of the group so I could find out who had authorized them to invade my house. The choir director was a short black woman. I mention that because she knocked me over backwards, which is kind of funny because I’m over six foot in real life, then she literally jumped on top of me, yelling and spitting in my face. It was all I could do to get away from her.
I ran down a set of stairs to the basement. There were all these flats for some theatre piece, all painted in bright colors. They were stacked close to each other, not near enough to see exactly what was painted on them but far enough apart that I could run between them. I ran up another set of stairs and that fat guy with the radio show, the political one, was giving a workshop about investing – of all things. I guess he must figure he’s got something important to say about everything.
I kept running and found that another part had been set up as an induction center for the Marines. Very sad young men were filing in sometimes accompanied by their parents and they were filing out in their dress grey. It’s not the typical uniform, it’s the special uniform worn for funerals.
I was just about to go back to “my” side of my house and try to ignore all the noise and commotion, when I ran into some nurses. They were trying to trash pick food for lunch from what the other groups had thrown away. One of them lifted the lid of the dumpster and looked in. She said disappointedly “No salad today. They must have had meat.”