Last night I had a dream about a strange place near to our international airport that used to be, among other things, a classy bed and breakfast resort as well as a girl’s boarding school. (That part is unclear. You know how dreams are. It may have been a co-ed boarding school, but it’s just not easy to tell anymore.) In the dream, it was being used for a meeting. The meeting started out as a meeting of civil servants, although it changed to a spot for the remote broadcast of our national festival and a secondary site for that festival, to be conducted by the armed forces of the country (read police and the defence force — our version of marines) for people who are on their way to the airport and want a taste of the festival. And yet, considering the fact that access to the performance space was up a rickety old iron ladder and onto a sloping roof, it seemed a little optimistic. And then, given the fact that a dead aunt of mine, who when she was alive was both one of the most beautiful women of many people’s acquaintance, and also, thanks to various health challenges, lame in one or both of her long, long legs, turned up, it seemed, well, a little dream-like.
There were, come to think of it, many long-dead people in the dream. It was peopled with the dead and the missing. You tell me.
But I say all that to say this: I have been scarce, and will continue to be scarce, because I am in the process of changing jobs yet again. I never thought I would be the person I am when I was growing up. I never imagined a nomadic existence. But my professional life has so far been peripatetic, and once again I am moving on. The dreams that go with the period of transition are always vivid, improbable (more so than usual), and surrealistically coherent. Last night’s was no exception.
So there that is. I shall be posting spasmodically for a while longer. Then, after things settle, let’s hope the regularity of my posting on this blog will resume.
Perhaps there will be more dreams to share — who knows?