Whatever was ailing me yesterday seems to have gone away overnight. Though it was uncomfortably warm here last night for February. I woke up late, in the middle of a dream that had disturbed me so much, I thought it was still ‘happening’.
I had lost Ollie, and I was looking for him everywhere. But everything in the dream was wrong.
We were living on a busy main road, in an unfamiliar city. The cars outside were all 1970s American cars, and Yellow Cabs like I have seen in films. People were helping me try to find my dog, but none of them were familiar, and none were American either. The shops, banks, and other buildings all looked like they would in an English city, but the traffic, buses, and even police cars, were American types from fifty years ago.
After what seemed like hours passing in my dream, it was getting dark, and I still couldn’t find Ollie. I was becoming incredibly agitated, and worried about my dog.
Then the yapping of a neighbour’s tiny dog woke me up, leaving me thinking about yet another strange dream, and why I had experienced it.
At least Ollie was alive and well, sitting on his bed in the kitchen when I went to check on him.