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An exceprt from my dream journal

By S. Ensandoost
June 18, 2002
The Iranian

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 this way.

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 streets.

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.

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