Dreaming is another world

I need a dream journal. I have those multi-color dreams sometimes that are epics. The first one I had was when I was 16 years old. I dreamed about being a plains Native American woman during the 1840’s when the white settlers were shooting buffalo and Indians alike. I won’t mention the rest here, but it was quite a story.

This morning I woke up from another epic. I was with my parents and siblings in a tent with tons of boxes in someone else’s driveway. Another family (who were thieves) lived in a mobile home next to us. They left with half of our stuff. (very similar to what has really happened…)

Anyway, most of the stuff they took belonged to me. I had decided to go to college and wanted my clothes. I sorted through my parent’s boxes (and tried to get my trunks back). My dad had put his car tools and batteries in my trunks. Of course the extra pressure was that the people who owned the driveway were trying to evict us.

Even worse, I couldn’t find any of my stuff to take to school with me. My mind tried to think of ways to make money. Finally, the showdown. A young man from the house tried to fight with us. In a thrice (bet you haven’t seen that word before) I had him down on the ground. He was pretty embarrassed.

I told my dad (in this dream) that he needed to get off his butt and put his family in a home or apartment. Somewhere besides the street.

I woke up.