You know it has to be a dream when I’m dragging two bags of laundry to the laundry room downstairs in the dark in 30 degree weather.  And so it goes…

Dark but for the mango glow of courtyard lights. Silent. Cold. I introduce my sorted laundry into four washing machines, and a great deal of the dream pays attention to which clothes are going into each machine, and the fact that I have the right amount of quarters, and the machine accepts each plunge of the quarter tab and starts running immediately, something that doesn’t seem to happen in waking life.  And the room start filling with people, my neighbors, two strangers, and a kid I went to college with.  Now they all want to do their laundry and I’m hogging up most of the machines, and I’m feeling a twinge of guilt for using so many machines, but dag, I got here first!   One guy left his stuff in the dryer, but the dryer broke and his boxers were ruined. He and the neighbors were quite annoyed.

I felt intruded upon in this dream, and that tells me a lot.  There are remnants of another dream, something earlier.  Mom and Dad are alive, I remember them as they were in my teens.  Something about me taking a car, something vintage with white bucket seats and and a Mustang dashboard, driving up a tall, grassy hill.

Some might say it’s a boring laundry dream.  I see a little more here.  But really, I do have a pile of laundry I’ve been resisting for awhile, and here’s some motivation to get things done.