(no subject)

Rich time in the dreaming last night; spent all the dreamtime in this old curiosity shop, telling story to myself, one big story, about the objects, while playing out  a story with the owner and the place as I did. The tiny doll of a burlesque dancer, in tattered, sparkly pink, the shadowed painting of three women in white, the central arrangement of antique red velvet and dark wood settee and chairs that the young man who is the most current owner tells me is known as the "well." You haven't really settled into/been accepted by the store until you sell the well, but the person who buys it always pays the $500, says they'll be back to pick it up, and never returns for it. And then there's the old notebook, which I am remaking, in vivid colors, as a new book, full of story. And the story the objects are telling me, and the one the owner and I are in, are both so amazing.

And at the end of the day, potluck dinner with the employees, and it rains outside, and the story is glorious.

Really didn't want to wake up.