I slept in today and the perfect storm of conditions combined to promote weird dreams: sounds of the power-washing of my apartment complex, the lack of air conditioning, a mango overload from my fruit cleanse the day before.
In the dream, I was wandering through an Antebellum manor house which strangely resembled McKee gymnasium, the rehearsal space for the opera class at Mizzou. The house was uninhabited, but seemingly used as storage for antique furniture draped in white sheets.
No breeze. No wind, just hotness.
I walk up the stairs to the bathroom that has white beadboard (um which definitely did not go with the plantation style facade, but that is a story for another day). I look in the mirror over the sink and I see a different pair of eyes looking back at me. Through the mirror, the eyes are green, unblinking. That's it.
When I woke up I had a vague sense that this dream was a metaphor for being raped.
I guess that is what I get for reading Maeterlink before going to bed? As he would say, "Oh! rien n'y est à sa place."
Nothing is in it's right place.