I often have highly-symbolic, narrative dreams. I’m told that’s common with bipolar disorder, but people like ascribing things to mental illnesses, so I’m not sure how much stock to put in that.
Night before last I dreamed I was at some sort of combination SF/F convention and home and garden expo thing held inside a really big mall. All the “shops” were suites where people basically lived, doing their thing.
There was a huge glassed-in house — a really nice one — right in the middle of the three-story open area in the center of the mall. I don’t know why, but I knew I had to go live there. I didn’t want to, though. It was furnished and looked comfortable, but the walls were see-through, and there were people going in and out all the time.
I couldn’t get into any of the other suites. The doors were locked, or they wouldn’t let me in. I didn’t have anywhere to go, and was getting pretty frustrated, when some guy came up and said I could go into his room with his friends where they were having a party with drums and dancing, and I was welcome to come and stay there if I would dress for the occasion.
Not having any alternative, I agreed, and went to get dressed.
I got my black wolf-skin and put it on. I dropped to all fours and trotted back. I could see my reflection in the glass walls of the house, the glass walls of the elevator, and the glass below the rails. I looked like a wolf trotting, only the occasional flash of knee or elbow to break the illusion. I thought I looked pretty good.
I went back to the guy, who was waiting for me.