This morning, I was dreaming that @bhoneydew and I were back in the house again.
I say ‘again’, because it’s not the first time I’ve dreamed that house. It’s a familiar house, even though we’ve never lived there. Unlike other familiar houses, all of which are perfect (and as such are Built of Lies), none of the rooms are right for what they’ve being used for.
In the dream afternoon, we were in the screening room that’s being used as a hallway. We couldn’t do anything about the 70s era projection equipment mounted on the ceiling without calling a professional, but we’d accepted that and moved on, because there were lots of things we could do ourselves.
We had discovered that the unhelpful yellowing white plastic built ins, these things straight out of Space:1999 and a low-rent dentist’s office, weren’t actually built in, but mounted on sliding tracks. @bhoneydew had wrenched them off their tracks one by one — without taking the stuff out first, of course, but I knew I’d get to that when I disassembled them. He was measuring for new cabinets, while I was unscrewing all the track frames from the wall and splitting the components out between trash and recycling and a coffee can for saving screws and wall anchors that were the perfect size. I was doing the latter purposefully, even cheerfully, even though I knew it was futile to do so, because we’d lose those screws and anchors before we could use them, or I’d find them in a box after we’d moved again, and we’d no longer have the need for them.
Then I found an old dishwasher. The push-button controls didn’t respond.
“Crap,” I said, and then woke up.