Dreams, October 8, 2011
The last resident showed how superior he was by going up the ladder, too long and high to even fathom, to get to the apartment. We were not so brave; we took the alternate series of stairs. But, they were even longer and higher — what advantage were they, except the pitch was not as steep? Then the stairs are gone. We have no choice; must take the ladder. Turns out it is not quite so long and high after all. Oh, no wonder. They fixed it.
* * *
Where can I get a cup of coffee? I see people passing by with small cups. I would really like one. But, no one can satisfactorily explain how to find the lounge that is selling them. I take one lead, but it takes me out of the building into the street. I look down the road, but I don’t see a lounge. I ask more people. Each says the lounge is outside, but give me such abbreviated directions I can’t find it.
Finally I decide to wake up Nancie, though it is 2:00 a.m. She is so groggy, but she is the only one who can explain adequately how to find the lounge. Meanwhile, someone else is making an announcement about the new rules for 2:00 a.m. No waking up people! But Nancie doesn’t mind too much. She tells me how to find the lounge.
Do I want coffee so late? Now I wonder if I still want it.
We venture outside and after a long walk down city streets, down a hill, across a busy intersection, up another hill, I find the lounge. But a storm is coming. Tokyo will be devastated with a flood. We must get someplace safe before the rain comes. I barely have time to get on my high rain boots, the pretty blue rubber ones, before we venture out again to get to a safer place. We see each intersection is full of hordes of people, starting to panic because Tokyo will be demolished by the rains. We might all die. Very soon.
The rain is starting now. Fear. I write one letter to RB, telling him to watch the news, and showing Tokyo in the return address so he will know I am in danger. Now we are having trouble escaping the rain. I fear the end is coming. I write a second message to RB, a good-bye message. All I have is part of a cookie to write on. I am stuffing the coffee into an envelope — difficult, because the cookie won’t lie flat — when a cat comes up to me. A hungry cat. An aggressive hungry cat that won’t take no for an answer. I give up. Better to let the cat have the cookie and live. I don’t have proper postage to send the message to the States, after all.
Then I remember the other letters and bills I processed for Daddy, all with only domestic postage. What do I do? Well, given the return addresses, the mail will just go back to him if the post office doesn’t process.
Too many envelopes; I can’t get the right postage. It’s a mess. I was trying to help, but now it’s a mess.