A Sleeping Dream

I found myself in a house, familiar yet strangely unfamiliar. Like a mash-up all of the houses I’ve ever lived in, rolled into one. The house was quiet. Seemingly unoccupied.

I wandered into the living room. I came across the abandoned debris of a TV dinner. I tidied up the dishes.

I walked upstairs into a study. A cross between my own house’s small study space and the larger attic room of my childhood – stretched out, combined, morphed into one.

Izzy came down the stairs from a room upstairs somewhere (I guess the attic rooms of Molly and Beth’s bedrooms) and joined me in the study. She was little, maybe 5 or 6. She was clutching an enlarged, elongated chocolate snack. Something like one of those chocolate assortments you get at Christmas.


There, in the room, was the cream Habitat chair of my childhood. The same chair where, in a previous dream, Beth had sat, sowing and waiting.

‘Can I sleep here tonight?’ Izzy asked.

It seemed an odd request. Why would she want to sleep on a small chair that wasn’t even big enough to allow her to lie out. She’d have to sleep sat up.

Nevertheless I lifted her into the chair and sat her there. As I did so I asked her ‘Why?’

‘Because’ she replied ‘I’ll be closer to Beth.’

I pulled a duvet from somewhere and wrapped it around her, drowsy and snug.

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