I am drawing with my crayons. I write in pink, and blue, and flesh colour …I am sad. Then …because he is mad at me.
I lie down.
I feel a flat knife across my middle, at my belly button. I am in a large house. There’s a modern galley kitchen, with a peep window. I’m sitting on the other side, by the window, on a tall stool. My father is there. He is maybe angry, seems to be bending over me.
Then I come crashing through the wall of the house on the second floor. Bricks fall in a heap. People are walking around – they are surprised to see me there.
This was the waking dream I had this afternoon. First I’d felt huge amounts of fear, before the dream, but when I actually followed the images in my dream, I was not afraid. I was trying to allow them to speak. I don’t know what they are saying to me. Now I feel really really tired. The knife part is the most uncomfortable part. The rest is hazy and dream-like.
This didn’t actually happen. The house is completely unfamiliar. The only thing I recognize is we did have bar stools in the house in Suburbville, down in the rec room.