I swear that someday I'll stop posting my dreams, but I simply can't help myself right now. I dreamt last night that I was walking by this enormous Victorian house--mansion, really--and I wanted to own it. The fact that it wasn't for sale didn't phase me. I walked in and began counting rooms. I got stuck upstairs when I saw the library. Oh, the library. Ah, the library. Two stories tall, floor to ceiling bookshelves (at least I think it was ceiling--they seemed to go on into infinity), mammoth room, fireplace. And then there was the kitchen downstairs. Oh, the kitchen. Ah, the kitchen. Space. Cupboards. Pantries. Counters.
I like dreams like these.
Perhaps I was dreaming such a dream because I sent my third packet to my advisor last night? My tightly-reigned in imagination was allowed to set off in fanciful pathways, since it was freed from the chains of my various fictions.
Oh, the library. Ah, the kitchen.