***(Yesterday, let off from work early, bonus day off today and so had a short nap to peculiar affect...)
I'm at work, looking into the men's room - the door is open, and there seem to be a bunch of homeless people in it - one, a short, shirtless bearded guy giving me scowls, others, they're using it to store their stuff, grabbing and stashing their possessions under the sink...
A couple of girls come out of the bathroom, green short-sleeved blouses, big black scarves, and they're talking to one another, working behind the bar, and I understand that the owner's son has hired them and will train them tonight...
Peculiar they were in the men's room, but I shrug it off, I'm off early and I'm thrilled.
Off, and I take a nap, and wake up - in the bar, the same, but not the same at all.. Old wood paneling, cupboards everywhere, like in a mall or arcade, close and claustrophobic, ...there's a regular at the bar, I don't know him, never met him, he's had a couple of drinks, a meal, I can't find his bill - on his seat another waitress - Brie (??) has his bill mixed up with her table, I can't figure out what stuff is his, and he keeps talking to me..
Exploring the bar, old wood paneling, cupboards, walls, curios everywhere, there's an old gold lighter that when you snap it open expands, a little jewel, I want to know who's it is, want it, someone says it belongs to Mildred (Who's Mildred?), and I'm trying to get the regular his bill, trying to sort it out, there's a guy with half his face all fallen in, distorted, disfigured, and he's telling me how fucked up the new computer system we have is, he owns a bar, it's the same for him, and he turns and gets up like a Picasso, melting away like a bad acid trip, he's completely out there...
The regular, he's showing me some loft beds behind the bar, climbing into the upper bunk, a fine place to crash if you've had one too many...
And this bar, it's so far from anyplace I've known or seen and then I realize that I took a nap after work and so I'm dreaming and that explains it...
The regular tells me, no, I'm not dreaming, I'm dead, I've crossed over, and it all makes fucking sense now and I think I've got to tell someone, my children, let them know, and then sit down, having just figured out that there is no communication from here, I'm dead...
And I'm taking comfort in the fact that all this, the whacked out bar and people, they are all somehow extensions of myself and if only I can get my thoughts in order things will start to improve and make sense...
***(A completely whacked out dream-within-a-dream, filled with people and places I don't know. Vivid. Blech.)