Tonight’s dream spectacular featured me, drunk, unable to put the car out of reverse and consequently executing careering donuts up and down the lawns of an unfamiliar and well-to-do suburban neighborhood. I was of course seized by a mob of wealthy teenagers who beat the holy fuck out of me. It is the beating part of the dream I recall most vividly.
In other dream-related news, I have been awakening once a night from a foreclosure nightmare. How I hate home ownership.
I tried to be enthusiastic about owning a condo. That was when real estate was booming, and I could at least convince myself that I was making money. I wasn’t. My wife was making money. Now we’re divorced and she’s losing money on the place. Basically, I got very little satisfaction from owning a house. Maybe if I’d started younger or something. As I get older, I am starting to detach from the world and float away. I have no desire to own an anchor. I am like George Jones, I need four walls around me to hold my life, and that’s about it.
How did you know the teenagers were rich? Were they the blond preppies from 80s movies?
Because they came from the houses of the wealthy subdivision whose lawns I was inadvertently tearing up.