An exceprt from my dream journal
By S. Ensandoost
June 18, 2002
I am walking through a series of buildings all connected through the second story.
There are doors between each building that lead from one directly into the other.
It's like walking from one room to the next. I go through three or four city blocks
At the end of the last building I walk out onto a landing, still on the second floor,
outside of a building. I am looking down on the street below and discussing with
a couple of people how it is also possible to get to this point walking along the
I find that option very unpleasant as I imagine crossing the many noisy and crowded
intersections - having to deal with traffic and confusion. I am happy that I chose
the more serene, subtle, pleasantly muted indoors option to cover the same ground.
I go back inside into the last room of the last building. I meet a young, friendly,
brown-haired woman sitting behind an old, wooden make-shift desk. She is literally
sitting behind the desk - on the bare, gleaming floor. I notice she's taken this
stance to appear more khodehmounee, more down-to-earth.
We discuss choices of group homes available for me to live in. She informs me that
there are several existing homes for people to live together but none seem to totally
suit my needs or talents. She would like to make a list of what I would like in a
group home if I were creating new ones.
I'm in some ways pleased by this prospect but also feel put upon. Why do I have to
make the effort of identifying, describing and helping to create brand new group
homes? I'd rather plug into an exisitng situation where I can be totally comfortable
and happy. I'm on the verge of mulling over what my requirements are.
I recognize if I pick an existing home, I'd conform but not commit totally, always
holding an essential piece of myself back.