(Entered in paper journal at 6 AM at home in Harlem.)
Dream 1
Something strange had happened at work, like work had been canceled, or like we had our work changed from one type of work to another. Some guy had given us a speech about how things had changed. Now everybody cleared out.
I sat on a hillside with my crewmate and friend KB. We looked down on some "main street" and a little bar there. She asked if I wanted to go there for breakfast. I said sure.
I was now wandering through some spot of town far down the road. It took me a minute to realize I wasn't supposed to be there.
I was now at the bar, sitting with KB and some man, maybe my friend ML, maybe a well-put-together man like a doctor or a Ph.D. candidate.
We sat below a sign displaying a list of drinks the bar served for breakfast. I didn't want to order anything. It was all too expensive. But I didn't want to look like a cheapskate, either. The sign was huge and had two sides. I read both sides and finally found one drink I could afford. But even then I didn't want to order. It just seemed like too much money.
Dream 2
I had moved into a rented room-type place. My brother had as well. Our landlady came in to look at the place. We left. We came back. The place had been dirty before. Now it was clean. I knew my landlady had looked through my dresser drawers.
My brother had gotten kicked out. But I looked in the drawer, where my girl clothes were, and saw a letter for me to leave, too. It was in magic marker and signed in different colors by all kinds of different people, all of whom were in my landlady's family. It was almost like a "thank you" or "we'll miss you" card.
Showing posts with label rented room. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rented room. Show all posts
Sunday, March 5, 2017
Sunday, November 11, 2012
(11/5/09) good impressions aren't worthwhile
(Entered in dream journal at 7:30 AM at Sit & Wonder cafe in Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
I was somewhere indeterminate, hearing a young man telling me, as if we were speaking on the phone, that he would meet me for our interview at XXXXX. I knew I was going to interview for either a room or an apartment. The young man had told me to meet him near the room. He had also told me some of the difficulties I might have have living there: something to do with the shower or the kitchen.
I was now in the building. The building was a square, with a lot of open space in the center, like and atrium or a lobby, and all the rooms along the walls. There was a half-ceiling over the floor just in front of the rooms, like a second-story balcony ran along the walls. There were squarish, cheapish columns spaced somewhat closely at the edges of the balcony. In the center of the "atrium" was a seating area, with comfortable chairs, soft, with fake leather upholstery, sat around a square or rectangular rug.
I continued to hear the conversation between me and the young man for a little while longer. I might have looked into a room with a slightly open door, looking into dimness, possibly seeing a bed.
I then pulled out a book (from my bag?), sat in one of the nice chairs, and started to read. The book seemed to have and not to have a cover. The cover looked like the first edition cover of Philip K. Dick's The Man in the High Castle. The book was a paperback, about the size and thickness of an old Stephen King novel, like Christine. I thumbed through some of the pages.
At some point I looked back over my right shoulder and saw one or two rooms with open doors. The lights were on in both rooms, which were in the corner. I knew one of these rooms was the young man's room.
I hoped the young man would be impressed that I was reading this book, which was thick and slightly difficult. But then I remembered that this book was also thought of as pulp, which some people felt wasn't intellectually worthwhile. I knew I had to make a positive personal impression, since my history wasn't the most positive the young man would encounter.
Looking into the rooms, I saw a couple beds in each room, as well as cubicle-like room dividers. It looked like each room may actually have held more than two beds. The beds had no blankets. The sheets on the bed were dull blue, a shade darker and duller than surgeon's scrubs.
I thought, Well -- wasn't I moving into a room by myself? Wasn't that the good deal, in spite of the kitchen and bathroom not being great? I thought, Is the young man still living here, and that's why I have to make a good impression? Because we'll be living in the same room?
I tried to figure how many people lived in each room, and I tried to figure whether what I would pay would be a good deal after all, if more than two people lived in the room. I didn't think it was a good deal. I vaguely remembered the price, and I realized it wasn't much lower than what I'd been paying for my apartment. To pay this much to live in a room full of people didn't seem right.
I felt nervous. Before now, I'd thought I'd be able to save some money by living here. Now I realized that, even if this place had been a good deal, I still wouldn't be saving much money. Nevertheless, I still felt like I needed to make a good impression, so I could get into this place.
I might have seen my old landlord from a rented room I'd lived in in Brooklyn a few years back. I then also realized that I didn't have a job. I wondered how I'd convince the young man that I was a good candidate for this room despite the fact that I didn't have a job.
Dream #1
I was somewhere indeterminate, hearing a young man telling me, as if we were speaking on the phone, that he would meet me for our interview at XXXXX. I knew I was going to interview for either a room or an apartment. The young man had told me to meet him near the room. He had also told me some of the difficulties I might have have living there: something to do with the shower or the kitchen.
I was now in the building. The building was a square, with a lot of open space in the center, like and atrium or a lobby, and all the rooms along the walls. There was a half-ceiling over the floor just in front of the rooms, like a second-story balcony ran along the walls. There were squarish, cheapish columns spaced somewhat closely at the edges of the balcony. In the center of the "atrium" was a seating area, with comfortable chairs, soft, with fake leather upholstery, sat around a square or rectangular rug.
I continued to hear the conversation between me and the young man for a little while longer. I might have looked into a room with a slightly open door, looking into dimness, possibly seeing a bed.
I then pulled out a book (from my bag?), sat in one of the nice chairs, and started to read. The book seemed to have and not to have a cover. The cover looked like the first edition cover of Philip K. Dick's The Man in the High Castle. The book was a paperback, about the size and thickness of an old Stephen King novel, like Christine. I thumbed through some of the pages.
At some point I looked back over my right shoulder and saw one or two rooms with open doors. The lights were on in both rooms, which were in the corner. I knew one of these rooms was the young man's room.
I hoped the young man would be impressed that I was reading this book, which was thick and slightly difficult. But then I remembered that this book was also thought of as pulp, which some people felt wasn't intellectually worthwhile. I knew I had to make a positive personal impression, since my history wasn't the most positive the young man would encounter.
Looking into the rooms, I saw a couple beds in each room, as well as cubicle-like room dividers. It looked like each room may actually have held more than two beds. The beds had no blankets. The sheets on the bed were dull blue, a shade darker and duller than surgeon's scrubs.
I thought, Well -- wasn't I moving into a room by myself? Wasn't that the good deal, in spite of the kitchen and bathroom not being great? I thought, Is the young man still living here, and that's why I have to make a good impression? Because we'll be living in the same room?
I tried to figure how many people lived in each room, and I tried to figure whether what I would pay would be a good deal after all, if more than two people lived in the room. I didn't think it was a good deal. I vaguely remembered the price, and I realized it wasn't much lower than what I'd been paying for my apartment. To pay this much to live in a room full of people didn't seem right.
I felt nervous. Before now, I'd thought I'd be able to save some money by living here. Now I realized that, even if this place had been a good deal, I still wouldn't be saving much money. Nevertheless, I still felt like I needed to make a good impression, so I could get into this place.
I might have seen my old landlord from a rented room I'd lived in in Brooklyn a few years back. I then also realized that I didn't have a job. I wondered how I'd convince the young man that I was a good candidate for this room despite the fact that I didn't have a job.
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