I Dreamt I Had An Extra Room

New York City apartments are small, yes. Generally we have too much stuff, yes. But I must really have too much stuff, because at least 3 times a year, I will have a dream where I "discover" a room which I "hadn't noticed" existed, and it remained empty, behind a hidden door, just waiting to be found and then crammed with crap.

The dreams are so vivid and so detailed, that even I know it's totally implausible while I'm sleeping, that I'll edit the "hidden room discovery" to more realistic proportions before I wake. For example, this hidden space I didn't realize was the size of a gigantic loft apartment that had 3 bedrooms, a long hallway that led to a back door outside entrance on a river, with a view of Yankee Stadium.

I'm tossing and turning, totally psyched and surprised that something this valuable could have gone unseen for so long, that I begin to doubt my own dream. The doubting didn't happen until I dropped a frisbee or a kite in the river and a guy who rescued it for me wanted my number, but I had that problem where I couldn't remember my number, because it was a dream for chrissakes, and it looked as if I was giving him a fake number even though I should have, because I totally didn't want to go out with him but do believe that giving a fake number is mean.

I am a prisoner of my own bleeding fucking heart.

So once inside, I realize to myself "This dream has to be horseshit, because it's one thing to not know about the extra room/s, but to forget about the backyard and "magical river" and Yankee Stadium is like, totally ridiculous. I mean, I'm not even a Yankee fan, but I would think that this would have been awesome.

So I says to myself I says, "Anne, this is ridiculous. There's not a chance in hell that you took a nap after the cable guy almost raped you only to realize that you have hit the real estate jackpot."

So I convinced myself it was just that long hallway with storage space and one small bedroom that I didn't know about.

Until my phone rang. It was my ex-boyfriend who read my post from this afternoon and was concerned that I had been assaulted/raped/and/or/killed by the cable man. Still asleep when answered I opened my eyes and realized that I was in the same completely adequate if not on the larger sized bedroom that I've had for the last ten years.

The secret garden does not exist.

Sigh.

At least my cable has been fixed without me requiring to fix my attacker a peanut butter sandwich on a whole wheat pita and no beverage.

Thank goodness for the little things.