I have been dreaming of The House again.

I think I dream of The House maybe 12-20 times a year. It is not a house I have ever lived in, though it has some aspects of my second/current family home, my late (and very kind, and RICH thanks to my late Uncle Mac's 1979 investment in personal computers) Aunt Pauline's mini-mansion in Cleveland, and the Theta Chi house on Case Western Reserve campus.

It's a huge house, much nicer than anywhere I've ever lived in, at least where I wasn't living with 30 other people. Lots of windows. And most importantly, there is the Squeezy Thing.

The Squeezy Thing is a crack in the wall that only I can flatten myself enough to get through. It leads to a furnished, cozily run-down three-room lounge. When The House is in Ohio, it's where I hide all my weed and my *amazing* collection of gigantic sci-fi lookin' dream bongs. Huge plastic bubbly things, @Phorm could make a four-week resort vacation outta any one of 'em. 🧞‍♀️​❤️​

Usually there is Someone Else coming to the house-- the police, the landlord, pod people (but not the fun kind I would immediately surrender to)-- and I have to squeeze in. There's always a huge sense of triumph and mischief around The Squeezy Thing, and some of my worst nightmare are when it turns out They have another way into the Lounge...

Other than that, it's just night after night of phantom cats that need rescuing in some vague undefined way I'm not capable of, and of it being the last day of college and I have to either call my parents and move out in the course of two hours, or talk one of my old friends to take me in.

They never do. Mysteriously, these dreams started happening around the time I got kicked out of Transliminal. C'est l'amour. 🤷‍♀️​