Last night I dreamt what I've been saying for years: my apartment is too small and it is time to move on. (What a metaphor for everything, right? My memorable dreams often feature domestic revelation). It was clear in my dream that it was my current apartment, and as I was closing the door to escort the movers, I realized it was perfection, that only required an update if I switched the layout of the rooms and changed a few things. It wasn't the place I live in now... there was an entry room about this size, and then a small room off that with two windows and a fireplace; a no-frills kitchen in the back and a small dining room, and a central room you passed through that had no windows and a vaulted ceiling with a primitive mural. The key moment was in the kitchen when I pointed at the linoleum I so loathed and realized, under seven layers of it, there were burnished old wide oak planks. As though my mind didn't trust me to catch the drift of the larger message, the story quickly evolved into a brief sequence where I polished my grandmother's old bracelet and a "Van" "Cleef" "& Arpels" stamp came into view, burning brighter and brighter into the backs of my lids until I awoke completely.
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