I had a brilliant home dream last night, about my future kitchen. Whenever I dream about my kitchen, the dishes and cookware and bakeware are always white. Everything I've collected thus far and wrapped in newspaper and tissue paper is, so I think I was slightly influenced by the subconscious in my slow accumulation and collection. Dreams becoming reality and all.
Anyway, I had a dream about my kitchen and I was making cookies shaped like foxes and I was doing the dishes too. Company was coming. I was washing my bird teapot, and I think unconsciously I was so enthralled that my bird teapot had actually jumped from my real life into my imaginary one that I didn't notice this dream becoming a bad dream. But it did anyway.
This man came in, and he wasn't my husband or anything, and I think he was welcome in my house and everything, because I knew him. I called him, Ranger. Even though I knew that wasn't his name. He looked perfectly normal. A solid man with light eyes and light hair and clean cut. Wearing dark washed jeans and the smallest color of blue for a tee shirt that you could find.
But then he threw a pistol at me and I caught it and he armed himself with a shotgun and I followed him upstairs to the attic. My attic had a zipline across to the loft of my barn, which is totally absurd because I hate ziplines and will never have one. But he picked me up and we flew across the short expanse of my backyard that was suddenly pregnant with activity and swollen with hate. People started shooting at us. we made it though, and stepped into my loft which was actually refurbished as a study. Ranger set all of his weapons very meticulously on my table in the middle of the little room. I wanted so badly to look at what I painted and wrote and drew in my dreams, but he covered them all. He had a lot of arsenal. And then he unfurled this huge map of the forest my farm was located on and he started speaking in really geographical terms about "situations" and "hypotheticals". And all the while people were shooting at us and I was suddenly intensely worried because I had to tell Ranger that we couldn't leave because I had company coming and I had already made fox cookies. I was sure he would think me a petty woman.
I woke up before it could turn into a hostage situation because my company was driving down the road to the farm. You could see them from the loft were Ranger was cursing in a different language and I was trying to put away a piece about a prince with one leg.
I am going to make pancakes and drink lychee black tea and draft and sketch a plot for that prince with one leg story.
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