Nothing really matters, ’tis all but a dream!
So ahead we shall go, full-stream…
When I was around 9 years, I had this random dream that I was in this old early 1900’s-era house with archetypical Ozarkian architecture. You know exactly what I’m talking about–the kind that has the master bedroom at the front of the house with the other bedrooms in the back, and in the dining area there’s a floor furnace that really ties the room together. Indeed, a classic example of “archetypical [early 1900’s] Ozarkian” if I ever saw one.
Ok, so I’ll confess that the reason I’m so confident in these oddly specific details is because, in fact, this house was the very same house in Springfield that we happened to be living in at the time.
Anyways, in this particular night-vision, there wasn’t much context or plot. It started with me standing somewhere in the front of the house, in either the living room or my mom’s bedroom. And all I knew is that I was super-tired and needed to get back to my bedroom, which was through the dining room and past the kitchen at the back of the house.
I know, I know. It seems kind of redundant to share such details about the floorplan, given that I’ve already established pretty clearly that this was an early 1900’s-era Ozarkian home. But–believe it or not–there are actually people out there unfamiliar with this school of thought within the architect community, so bear with my while I kindly suffer these ignorant fools.
Okay, so there I was needing to get from the front of the house to the back of the house. Simple enough, right?
Well nothing is ever that simple is it? About 4 steps through the living room the plot got a whole lot thicker: I realized that I had to pee. Like a mother ----- racehorse. I had never had to take a whizz so bad up until that point in my life, and perhaps has only been surpassed by the now [in]famous OMG-The-Nurse-Touched-My-Wee-Wee experience.
Now, I don’t have to tell you fans of early 1900’s-era Ozark residential architecture twice that my newly re-calibrated destination–the lone bathroom in these types of homes–was about 12 good paces from my location in the living room, off to the side of the dining room.
Nor would I want to insult your spatial visualization skills by painting a mental image for you like you were a 5-year-old. No, no, don’t let me interrupt you as you envision in your mind’s eye what it would be like to be standing where the living room and dining room meet, looking at the bathroom door, and then looking down at your feet to see the floor furnace conveniently located only 1 pace from your current location.
And since you’re already reliving the dream with me in your head, I bet you’ve already jumped to the clear and obvious logical conclusion that, in retrospect, seems kinda genius: “Why suffer a full bladder all the way to the bathroom, when there’s a perfectly good floor furnace right here? I mean, ----- it, this is just a dream, so who cares, right?”
Truly, I was quite relieved by the realization that I was merely experiencing a consequence-free dream…
Relieved–just like my bladder was in that dream-version of our family’s floor furnace! *rim-shot*
*sigh*
Apparently, this mildly-interesting-at-best dream stuck with me, on account of me-thinksing me-self to be such a clever boy. Honestly, though, I was kind of proud of my display of quick-witted problem-solving skills, even if it was only in my imagination…
Later that year, Mom and I were doing some light spring cleaning, and we were almost done with the living room. The last task? That neo-classical early 1900’s era Ozarkian floor furnace, of course.
We got to scrubbing on it, and something about it vaguely reminded me of a distant dream that was just beyond the grasp of my consciousness. Mom must have been able to tell from my face that I was trying to put some puzzle pieces together in my head, because she got this funny look, like there was something she should say, but was trying hard not to.1Hmmm…where have I seen that look before?
“Did you notice faint hints of an odd scent, perhaps?” she finally said.
“Yeah, a bit,” I replied. “Did a bunch of mice get in here? It smells like hot-baked urine–but not like hot-baked mouse poo, oddly enough.”
“Well, actually…”
Her pause only confirmed what I suspected to be true. I was starting to see the pieces fit 2That there’s a TOOL Schism reference, for the very select few of you who’ll appreciate it. alright.
“You see, a few months ago I was up late working in my bedroom, when you showed up out of nowhere asking to borrow a pen…”
“Umm…okay…”
“I was so shocked to see you that I had to ask you to repeat yourself, but instead of answering you just mumbled unintelligibly and wandered out of my room. Next thing I know, it sounded like you were pouring water out of a gallon jug into a really big metal cup.”
“You don’t say…”
“Confused, I went to investigate, and there you were, just doing your business right there in the middle of the dining room. You seemed to really be enjoying yourself in that moment, and I guess I was too embarrassed to say anything. So I figured it best to never bring it up again if I could help it.”
Of course.
Of course, it would turn out not to be a dream after all…
I think the real lesson here, though, is that perhaps a good rule of thumb to live by is that any time you’re inclined to say to yourself “f*ck it!” and proceed to do something slightly ill-advised despite the possible consequences, maybe that’s your first clue to not do whatever your dumbass is about to do.
I mean, have we learned nothing from my Very Merry Bar-Shitzvah?!?
What? You didn’t think I would let my birthday pass without bringing that up, did you?
Bonus: For all you pun-loving Bob Villa fans out there, I thought it would be nice to toss a little sumpin’ your way…so you should know how badly I wanted to entitle this post “Piss Old House.”
Content created on: 15 December 2020 (Tuesday)
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