[two hundred, twenty-eight]
The only downfall to living in the basement is the lack of light. I always dream about living in a bit, darkly shaded oak wood floored house with large bay windows on every wall, that blew white satin curtains when opened, and the entire house was painted in different shades of blue, green, and yellow, with the main bedroom and dining rooms painted red. I don't know why so specific, but it seems like a big country house, something home-y, where there is a pie cooling on the stove top, and a large pitcher of ice water on the counter, with some low jazz playing. At night there would be only red wine and more jazz, but everything would be like a darkly lit dinner party, with friends talking and laughing. What a fantasy dream world I live in, the inside of my head must be littered with forgotten pictures like this. Hard wood, hard times, hard pictures.
My dreams come on slates in my head, when I want to look at an old one I just blow the dust off the slate and dip myself in, like a pensieve, but less watery. My dreams and memories come in dry storage, which is luckilly very good in times of absolute tragedy or turmoil. All are organised by mood or emotion that I need, sometimes by age, sometimes by friend groups or family situations. Sometimes they are categorized by seasons, so a Christmas dream set in the same place as a Fall dream can be found in the season section, but it would be different with age. A lot of my dreams of late are categorized that way just so that I can get the clothing right. You can't wear strappy sandals during Christmas dreams, unless those dreams are set in a tropical place.
All of this is irrelevant to anyone who cannot get into my head, which, fortunately for me, is absolutely no one. The best part about this, is that it all stays in. I have my own perfect world, inside.
I need to catch the train back to reality,
Jess :]
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