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The search continues
Aug. 24th, 2021 08:44 am I dreamed I was searching for a particular book for my son. I was in the usual bookstore labyrinth, somewhere near the exit. I had a list, but of course couldn't find it. I looked down on one of the lower shelves and saw a weird graphic novel series, purple and yellow and blue covers, that my son had read once, about feline humanoid corsairs in space. I thought: Perhaps that's it? But ended up leaving emptyhanded.
Outside our floor, which was high up above the canopy, we had a porch about two feet wide running along the length of the house. The wood was stained and sagging, probably from the recent rained. I had apparently been using this area for storage, mostly of books that I was no longer interested in. I looked at the area through the window, amazed at how much junk we'd stashed out there. Among the items was an art book that was literally the height of a tall human being, "The Art of the Shadowlands," apparently some kind of art tribute to Tolkien. I didn't remember buying that, nor could I understand how we ever fit it in the house to begin with. There were also some crumpled, weather-beaten boxes that seemed to contain shadow boxes depicting trolls and other weird monsters. A lady with longer, gray-streaked hair was visiting, and asked us about the latter, but I had no explanation. Where had it all come from, to begin with? No idea.
I dropped my daughter at the gym, and a friend was teaching. Some older guy with a paunch and an oversized T-shirt came in, as if off the streets. Not wearing appropriate grappling apparel, he began loudly to proclaim his interest in "Russian brides." What was he expecting to find in a grappling gym? I was sitting on a chair that I had reversed, and kept one eye on him as he continued to blab on and on. My friend also watched him, an eyebrow raised. Would we have to knock this schlub out and dump him in the alley? But then a bunch of other folks showed up for the class, and in the hubbub the Russian bride aficionado seemed to slip away into the night.
Outside our floor, which was high up above the canopy, we had a porch about two feet wide running along the length of the house. The wood was stained and sagging, probably from the recent rained. I had apparently been using this area for storage, mostly of books that I was no longer interested in. I looked at the area through the window, amazed at how much junk we'd stashed out there. Among the items was an art book that was literally the height of a tall human being, "The Art of the Shadowlands," apparently some kind of art tribute to Tolkien. I didn't remember buying that, nor could I understand how we ever fit it in the house to begin with. There were also some crumpled, weather-beaten boxes that seemed to contain shadow boxes depicting trolls and other weird monsters. A lady with longer, gray-streaked hair was visiting, and asked us about the latter, but I had no explanation. Where had it all come from, to begin with? No idea.
I dropped my daughter at the gym, and a friend was teaching. Some older guy with a paunch and an oversized T-shirt came in, as if off the streets. Not wearing appropriate grappling apparel, he began loudly to proclaim his interest in "Russian brides." What was he expecting to find in a grappling gym? I was sitting on a chair that I had reversed, and kept one eye on him as he continued to blab on and on. My friend also watched him, an eyebrow raised. Would we have to knock this schlub out and dump him in the alley? But then a bunch of other folks showed up for the class, and in the hubbub the Russian bride aficionado seemed to slip away into the night.
