I dreamed of professional dancers and tunnels and my old bedroom in my old house and once again being close to my best friend. I dreamed of an old man having a tea party for his birthday in an 18th century house. I dreamed of creaking wooden floors- the kind where you can feel the hollowness just beyond it, carved wooden bird cages sat next to antique briefcases. Wary footsteps and foreboding evil and tea that never arrived and cups too fragile to hold, with my pinky finger entwined with my childhood best friends’. Everything felt familiar, but nothing felt completely right. I dreamed that I took too long and I didn’t work hard enough and I missed opportunities and grabbed others too quickly. A peek in passing of window to a garden, the grass very fine and a little too dry. I never quite got to the garden try as I may. Everything was too something and nothing was just as it should’ve been.