I lived in a house that I know in real life, friends of mine live there. Actually, my cat is also a resident of this house, though she was not in the dream. It's a four bedroom set back from the street. There is a yard of sorts, and there are trees in this yard. There is a porch that is, in real life, covered with beer bottles--a friend once remarked that it is a wonderful shrine to the consumption of alcohol. In my dream however, the porch was clean and contained two couches.

This house was mine, it was where I lived along with my roommate, her boyfriend. I knew that enth lived there too, and he was present in the dream, though that part I can't remember. The inside of the house was amazing--the living room was completely bare of furniture and wall art save a folding chair and a music stand in the exact center of it. Sunlight streamed through the windows, and the hardwood floors gleamed. Flowers decorated the bases of the windows, and I was alone in the room.

I went to the chair and picked up my instrument--there was sheet music on the stand and I started to play. My fingers moved effortlessly, creating the notes, the melodies that I had learned years ago. I marvel as I always do when I play after ignoring the clarinet in its battered case for months on end at the ease with which I can play...still! My body learned the movements, years ago, and still hasn't forgotten. My mouth, my throat, my diaphragm are all weakened from the neglect making the intonation impossible and my stamina miniscule, but my fingers always fly over the practiced notes.

While playing, I remember how much I love this aspect of performance art. Dance and acting--I remember the nervousness in the pit of my stomach, the what if I screw up? What if I can't remember the steps, my lines? What if I fail? And then as soon as the music starts or the curtain goes up, the tension disappears because you realize that you can't mess up, you can't forget, because your body knows what to do. All you have to do is relax and let yourself do what you've done in practice hundreds and thousands of times. Don't think, just let your body take over, it knows what to do--no amount of reason or logic is required here. Let go.

There was a knock at the front door which interrupted this reflection. When I went to answer it, there was no one there, which was odd, until I saw two people parked in a car on the street right in front of the house who motioned me towards them. I still had the clarinet in my hands- I went to the car, to the rolled up passenger side window where I recognized the occupants of the car to be an ex-roommate of mine and her real-piece-of-work of a mother. Still, I came over to see what they wanted, though I should have turned away right then. The mother leans over towards me and sneers, hissing, "You can do whatever you want, you can think you're pretty and talented all you like, but no one is ever going to love you."

I turned on my heel and walked away without saying a word, throwing up my free hand over my head with a certain finger extended as I went. I was so fuming mad at them that I walked right past the front door. I saw Kim and Nik on a couch on the porch, cuddling. Funny, I hadn't noticed them as I passed the first time, they weren't even there. They waved and gave me a small smile as I walked around to the back door, not even breaking my stride. I saw the shed in the back, the broken hot tub, and looked up at the house, sighed, and went back inside. I sat down at my chair, and once again let my fingers fly across the bars.

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