Sunday, November 18, 2012

Dreams, Redux

So, last night I dreamed that I was on a road trip with my Mom and sister.  Someday you'll get an earful on the last trip I took with my Mom and you'll know why this automatically qualifies as a nightmare.

Once again, this dream puts my Mom behind the wheel (yikes!).  In this dream, she keeps twisting around to grab things out of the back seat while the car careens wildly into the paths of various large vehicles.  Each time, I scream from the backseat, and each time she gets angry with me for criticizing her driving.  We finally stop in a small town with many Native Americans there--most young, from children through young adulthood.  The younger children, who are brightly costumed, are lining up on the sidewalk, as are various vehicles decorated with spangles and flowers and such, and we realize it's going to be a parade!  I pull out the camera, but my Mom won't unlock the doors for me to get out, so I'm taking crappy, drive-by-tourist shots until I finally manage to convince her to open the cage.

Sadly, the "parade" involved only the little kids walking from one corner to the next, and then they were done.  No photo opportunities.  In the process of walking this one block, they left an unbelievable amount of trash--paper plates, plastic cups, a Saran Wrap box (?), etc.  So I wound up taking off my jacket and using it as a bag to hold garbage as I cleaned the street. 

We finally wind up at a nice-ish hotel (very Hemingway-esque, with a lot of stuffed exotics on the walls and deep, glowing paneling).  I've been in the room, just thinking about taking a shower, when my sister and near-hysterics Mom come in with the manager of the hotel.  My mother's credit card won't clear.  As things progress (degenerate?), it turns out NONE of her cards will clear.  I know I don't have the money, and I'm unsure what to do.  The manager is starting to make "calling the cops" noises, and my sister says she has an idea and walks out.  When she comes back, she tells me she's called my friend Joe and asked him for money, and that he's already sent it. 

I'm devastated.  She called Joe and and traded on my friendship to suck for money!  She doesn't see the problem--she says (and rightfully, I suppose), "Beats jail, doesn't it?"  I ask for her cell phone, agonizing over how I'm going explain this to Joe, how I'm going to apologize, earn his trust again.  I hit redial, but it's not a real redial--instead, it shows the number, but then I have to flip back and forth between the redial screen and the dial screen, entering one number at a time.  I screw it up repeatedly, each time getting more and more pitched.

As I'm about to hit send, I look at my sister and ask, "When are you paying him back?"  Suddenly, it's HER on the other end of the phone, and I'm standing on a corner in front of a city park in Nevada somewhere.  She starts to laugh and says she makes it a policy to never pay back.  I start to chew her out and she hangs up on me.  I'm crushed.  I'm enraged.  And I'm scared to death--we can't afford to pay Joe back, and yet that's exactly what we're going to have to do. 

Crappy dream--I kept bursting into tears every time I thought about calling Joe. 

On the "reality on the homefront" front, the landlord has become a little less than terrific these days.  We've been asking his "handyman" to take care of the ice maker (which only works if you molest it in advance every time you want ice), the sliding screen door (which was broken and on the ground when we moved in), and the sliding glass door (which has been increasingly unwilling to open) since June (earlier for the screen and ice maker).  At this point, we've given up on the screen and the ice maker.  Those are luxuries.  But we really, really do need a BACK DOOR THAT OPENS!   The dog needs to go out a few times a day, right?  We tried adjusting the roller height--no effect.  We tried unhanging the doors so we can pull out the roller assembly and order a new one (on our own dime!).  No joy--the screw for the stationary door half is so stripped out that it can't be worked.  The door won't come out into the house, it has to be able to clear the stationary part, which won't budge because of the stripped screw.  We finally sprayed some wax furniture polish on the runners, and, while it's not fixed, it is moving well enough that, for now, the door is usable.  I've emailed the landlord about it AGAIN--last time I emailed, he said he'd "look into trying to get something done."  That was two months ago.  This is delicate and difficult because, on the one hand, we sure as hell can't afford 800 bucks to replace that door if it needs replacing, but on the other hand, we really need the landlord to renew our lease next fall, so we don't want to be gigantic pains in his ass.  If he doesn't renew, we are absolutely screwed.  We have no money saved up, and no way of getting into a new place.  So I'm trying to strike a balance between getting what we're owed, lease-wise, and not making the landlord want us gone.

Going into DC today.  Not a lot of walking around, my back is being punky.  But hubby really wants our boy to see the monuments lit up.  I wouldn't mind that myself.  Betcha I take pictures!

1 comment:

  1. My former in-laws, who were master home repairers, used vaseline on the sliding door runners, and the groves at the base of the door as well. And if you do want to be a pain in the ass,(I know you don't but if you get desperate) look into your local renting laws, in Utah you can withhold some or all of the rent if certain things don't work. I'm sure the ice maker doesn't count but the door probably does. I had to do that after we went without heat for months, leaving messages with our very professional, owns several of the higher end apartments in town landlord ignored us. I did not withhold rent but I did use it against him when he tried to deny us our deposit and tack on a cleaning bill.