I’m off to help DQ deal with mountains of horrible deadlines. While I’m gone, I leave you this to chew over:
What in the world would Freud make of the recurring dream I had last night, a dream that repeated itself four or five times, each time with different details, but always with the same core theme? Each time, I was in a sprawling, ill-defined house, owned by ostensibly nice but, in fact, selfishly malevolent people, trying desperately to locate my children and my dog. Even if I could find one child or the dog, I’d lose him or her as I searched for the others. It was very frustrating, but I’m used to frustration dreams. It was the setting that unnerved me.