journal box

Having had to get up at 6:00 this morning, right in the middle of good sleep, I have a lot of dream memories left over, most of them vague by now. For instance: I was staying in some sort of house stuccoed on the outside with maybe some glass curtain walls but also some circular concrete walls? There was a part of it that was like a skyway, and there was a fair amount of pavement outside. Anyway, it was rainy out, and I remember being in & around different parts of the house, but that’s it.

At another point, perhaps continuous with the above, I was getting a checkup in a long room with bookshelves and a contoured floor that was sort of between a living room and a large store space, and there were jockish medical students giving people (me) checkups. Some other people who were getting checkups were people I knew from NH. I switched positions from the east, lower end of the room to the west, upper end of it.

The other thing I still recall is that I and a friend or two were in a house on an upper floor in a skylit white room shaped by the roof, with lots of bookshelves and a comfy couch, and a woman, maybe the owner of the house, was telling us about the large box painted blue with some representational scenes on it that was sitting on the counter of the bookshelf cabinet: it held all the journals (to date) of her father, who was still alive and writing even well past the age of 100 (I don’t remember hearing this figure but definitely thought it), so that he had started writing in the 1910’s. I thought this was just masterfully cool. Which it would be, of course.

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