I don’t know what I was looking for. At least I don’t remember now. Whatever it was had me searching around my house; an altered version of the upstairs I used to live at. What stands out the most is the room with the short bookcase filled on at least one bottom shelf and the top with books.
They weren’t just plain paperback books but big hardcover ones with elaborate artsy, some childlike, designs and decorations. I had quite the collection with dozens of interesting ones I’d never got around to reading. Even in the dream, I was pressed for the extra time to do such things.
My search for whatever I was looking for soon brought me to a back room the real house didn’t have. It would’ve been above the downstairs back door and porch area. That’s where I saw Fat Joe; the rapper. He started to ask if he could stay the night and I stopped him to tell him he could.
“I have a list of people who can spend the night whenever they want,” I might’ve phrased it, “and you’re near the top of that list.” I honestly didn’t mind it. I actually wanted him to because before I saw him, there was an underlying fear this dream would somehow turn into a nightmare.
2024 August 22