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I'm still dreaming about the mall. It's located in a place I used to live, about a dozen blocks from where I grew up. Except that in real life, that ain't where I used to live, that wasn't the house I grew up in, and only certain elements of the place resemble places (plural) that I've lived.
Younger versions of friends and family members are to be found there, some of them long dead, as though time were of no importance.
Often I'm going nuts trying to find on or more of my cats, who escaped or were let out or inadvertently got left behind. They and I live in a glass highrise that's built into the mall, and my place is often shared with other people who don't respect my belongings. At times, walls will be inexplicably missing, or there will be no front door, or else I'll go home and find my suite replaced by a restaurant, and I'll end up sleeping in a booth. Or trying to.
Belongings are a tenuous affair in my dreams. Often I'll have something with me, a musical instrument perhaps, that has something wrong with it or is damaged or falling apart. In the back of a music store in the mall is a door which leads to a series of rooms- band rooms, a room full of pianos, instrument rooms, kids taking lessons. I often borrow instruments, or else instruments belonging to me will have been taken or go missing.
There is a building in an old section of town that used to be a church. The huge organ, which was falling apart the last time I was there, has been restored, the rest of the building converted into an auditorium. I sometimes sit in with various bands playing and rehearsing there, and often I spend my time hunting for the music, or trying to read off someone's part, and trying to play some weird contraption that's falling apart.
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Time To Ban The GOP
