Neatly Sliced

Terrible dreams are really rather amusing.

Both my violin and my book, The Curious Mr. Sottsass, are ruined. A few nights ago, I had a dream that one of them came back. Was it my violin? No, it was the book.

The book came back. But I didn’t have just one book, no, I had three. Three books. One book was moldy, as my book is right now in real life. The second book had experienced severe water damage — all of the pages were warped. However, there was no mold. The third book had something wrong with it, but I honestly don’t remember what it was.

So I had three books, although none of them were readable. How very sad.

The amusing part is that I’m not dreaming about the return of my violin. I must not have appreciated the violin as much as I thought. My love and desire for the book is stronger than my love for the violin.

Or, maybe the fact that I dreamt of a multitude of books — yes, three — shows that the books are in wider abundance than the violin, and I should just go buy a new book so that it could be replaced, so on and so forth. The violin, on the other hand, is an item of greater value, and ought to have been regarded with the utmost care. Now that it is lost, I will have greater difficulty replacing the violin than the book. So, I should not fret about the book, and simply save up to buy a new violin.

Or maybe a moldy book is just a moldy book. I wish Freud were alive so he could psychoanalyze my dream.