Saturday, November 22, 2014

A dream where I cannot sleep and end up at my psychoanalyst’s house. She is doing a dance of some kind of dance to demonstrate something to me, to elaborate on something she had used words to say earlier. Also her husband is there. He is an older man with gray hair and a beard, bald and in a disheveled state. He is sitting at their computer and uploading songs to something like a USB or an iPod, and says something about doing it for her because of the road trip she or they are taking soon. Later we are standing on her balcony and discussing music, and she is telling me why she loves the composer she had danced to earlier, and I say “so you don’t like the atonal stuff?” and she shakes her head. The composer she likes is a man with an n and an o in his name but that’s all I can remember. I stumble around their house in the early dawn with the light dim and everything kind of blue in her apartment. Her son and his wife are sleeping in one room. I don’t get to the room she and her husband with grey hair and beard are in. I end up outside in an area that is vaguely Milwaukee’s east side Oakland Avenue-ish. I end up back home with an electronic device near my bed which is very low to ground.

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