A blog seems to be as good a place to talk about strange dreams as any.
Last night I dreamt I was looking for my 4th grade teacher, Mrs. Tennill. She lived down the street from Maren and I, but we apparently lived in the back woods. I went with a couple of other guys I think I imagined (Maren didn’t join us, though) to the house she lived in. It seemed like an abandoned house. Windows were knocked out, the back door was wide open, the house was up on cinder blocks, and there were a few cars from the 70’s parked around the house. We go in, the whole place was in disarray. Drawers were hanging opens, and papers and curtains were scattered about the floor. We split up, and I casually dig around some papers. Honestly, it seemed like she hadn’t been there in years, though. After a bit, a car pulls up. There’s no one driving the car, but a man sitting in the passenger seat. It’s her husband (or so my dream tells me). He comes in the house, and I notice when he waves at us that he’s missing his right arm and he’s mute. I dig around papers for a little while longer, but I’m pretty sure at this point that she’s been dead for quite some time, and I’m sad I didn’t keep touch.
Then Sophie wakes me up because it’s Saturday morning and there’s no such thing as sleeping in.
