from the oddest dream . . . I was trying to find a house, out in the fields; when I found it, there was a rabbit in the yard (fairly large, but otherwise a normal rabbit). The door was plywood, the house a whitewashed block of some sort . . . not concrete, but more like tufa . . . spongy-looking and coarse-grained. I'd been told that to get to the center (which was where I needed to go, for some reason), one had to continually turn to the right . . . assuming one could enter at all, for the house was peculiar in protecting itself. I went in and found myself immediately in a warren of small cell-like rooms, windows boarded over, most inhabited by emaciated, shaven-headed men wearing boxer shorts, ribs showing, lounging on cots. At several junctures, I couldn't see any hallway, had to ask, and someone pointed out a hall that ought to have been obvious, but that I couldn't see until it was shown to me. Eventually I came to a dead end and found myself outside again, near the house, which was now sunk into the ground, its roof only about three feet from the tussocky grass. No people or animals in sight, only a rabbit or two eating grass.
Then up comes Brian (on his bicycle, I think), and says, Aren't you going in? I don't think it will let, I say doubtfully, but he replies, Come on, of course it will. And sure enough, there is the house again, only now it's wood paneled, the door is a contemporary sliding glass affair with a three-branched light (sort of like antlers with those flame-shaped candelabra bulbs on them) on either side of it. We are standing in a grassy courtyard with a paved path and a concrete table and a few benches scattered about. The whole feel is that of a prosperous, understated convention center, lots of mahogany and bright brass, only on a very small scale. The tussocky fields are still there, but they're fenced now, and being worked into gardens by human-sized rabbits (sleek brown ones, if I remember correctly) standing on their hind legs and using hoes to weed the plowed row among the grass. Each rabbit has a human "minder", who apparently just follows it around and makes sure it does what it's supposed to be doing. . . . or perhaps the people were watching to see what the rabbits were doing and how to do it . . . it was not made clear. As I watch, several of the rabbits finish their rows and, followed by their humans, carry their hoes off toward a large building in the background. I can't remember whether or not they were wearing collars . . . I seem to be carying a brass tray with a brass tea service on it (all unploished, and decorated with that appear to be small brass gears), and when I attempt to follow him in, the doors (which slid open without prompting for him) hesitate, and open only wide enough to just let me in. I back off, they close; I try again, and the same thing happens. Despite my misgivings (I am fairly claustrophobic, and the thought of being trapped in there . . . ), I go in with my tray. We're in a sort of dining hall, filled with people bustling about, all looking very sleek and comfortable . . . the transition is fuzzy, but then I am in a graphic arts studio, attempting to design magazine covers with pale green construction paper and a bottle of old-fashioned mucilage. There is a man there, who is apparently someone with authority, and whose job is (equally apparently) to keep me from accomplishing anything, as he keeps talking and moving things . . . I keep looking for things that are in plain sight, but, again, I cannot find them until someone points them out to me. At one point I have used the last piece of flower-pointed cutout, but it has too much glue on it to use, and I am trying to figure out some way to use the ruined piece anyway, without letting anyone see that I've ruined it, when Brian points out to me an entire stack of the things, right under my nose. . . .
At which point I woke up to find that John had gotten up and gone to the Waffle House for breakfast and Mr. Poozle was sleeping on my bad knee . . . what a very strange dream. I suppose it means something, but I don't know quite what. Possibly only that one ought not to eat rice and beans and onions directly before bedtime.
Oh, and all the rabbits (the upright ones) looked as if they were drawn by Garth Williams.
