My wife and I were young folks, in our twenties, in this dream, and very realistic to who we were in RL, including our clothes. She was busy with cleaning. I was tinkering with the kitchen faucet, which wasn’t going well. I’d change one thing and it would start spraying sideways. Something else would be adjusted, causing the water to shoot straight up. But I was determined: I will fix this. Yet, I was laughing, telling my wife as the water shot off in a new strange arc, “Check this out.” Unbelievable.
Surrendering to that temporarily because I thought I needed to think about what to do, I went off for more DIY. I’d noticed a younger person holding up a wall in the corner of another room. That might be something that I needed to address. I went in there and asked them about the situation. They were holding up the wall because it would fall over if they didn’t. “Let me see,” I said. “Step back.”
They did. The wall started toppling over.
The two of us jumped in and held it up. “But is it the wall coming down or just, like, wallpaper?” I asked. I thought that’s what I’d actually seen. We tentatively released the wall, confirming that it wasn’t the wall coming down, but just the cover.
Then I was arriving at work. Dressed in a suit with tie, I joined others in a small but well-lit office with lots of windows. “Hello, Michael, about time you got here,” I heard. Stepping into a small office where the voice seemed to emanate, I found the one accosting me was Jeffrey Donovan, of “Burn Notice” and other television shows and movies. “I’m your new boss,” he cheerfully informed me. “You’re working for me now.”
Then, I was arriving at work again, sighing because it seemed like I was just hear. “Hi Michael, good morning,” I heard from Donovan. WTH, why was he singling me out like that?
I arrived on a third morning and sighed. “Hello, Michael,” Donovan called out.
“It wasn’t me,” I shouted back, lying. Then I leaned in around his office door. “How did you know it’s me when you’re in here?”
“I have eyes everywhere,” he answered.
I was done with work. Instead, I was cutting grass and doing general landscaping chores. I was part of a crew of four others. One was a friend and the other two were strangers, but we all got on well. While we worked, we saw an area where another crew had worked; we scoffed at the job they’d done. We could do better.
The home’s owner, an elderly and tall, white woman with silver hair who looked and sounded like Bea Arthur, came out and complimented us on our work. We pointed out where the other crew had been and told her that we could improve it. After some back and forth, she agreed that we could the other area, too. Happy that we’d won more work, we set to work improving it.
A large pool was alongside our work area. Others were swimming. Four young men staged a race. We mocked them because we thought ourselves better swimmers. Then we wondered which of the four of us was the fastest swimmer.
The owner appeared. We asked if she minded if we had a race in her pool. “Go for it,” she answered.
We lined up in our trunks. After counting to three together, we dove in and raced to the far end. I came in second to my friend.