Last night I dreamed I moved into a different house, and then, suddenly, into yet another different house. Each one was progressively larger than this one. The last was so fancy that it had a bathroom patio. I apparently had children living with me, but they were not the children I really have: they were  a boy and a girl, about high school age, who, like me, were completely confused by the constant moving. Meanwhile, I was trying to make dinner without any kitchen equipment, Tom was trying to find our missing stuff, and the two children were staring at us like deer about to be shot. It was all very unnerving.

This morning I'm in a post-dream hangover, which I hope will wear off soon. Everything feels extra-ominous, and the half-clear events of the dream scratch at my memory. For some reason I was very worried about interior doors--their quality of workmanship, not their imprisonment uses. Did this new fancy house have cheap modern hollow-core plywood doors? I'd just moved away from a house with vintage fir doors. How could I? Shouldn't I rethink everything?

I was relieved to wake up in the Alcott House, with its small familiarities . . . and its fir doors. I have no idea why they mattered so much to me in my sleep. But the truth is, the Harmony house had nothing but cheap hollow-core doors and I certainly did not want to leave them. So what's with the door fretting? And what on earth is a bathroom patio? And who were those anxious borrowed children?