Daytime naps are notorious for producing weird dreams and this one threw me into a drama that felt portentous. As follows:
I was in a house where a spider more than a foot in diameter kept appearing and re-appearing. It was both very disturbing and a little interesting; each heavy segment of its body was a different color, with a skin of what looked like baked-on enamel.
My brother Franc caught sight of it too. We agreed that you couldn't just step on something like that: "it would be like stepping on a rabbit."
The spider signalled to me, nonverbally, that it needed paper and a pen to write something down. I provided these. With one leg the spider wrote something in a sort of shorthand; in the dream I understood it to mean: housewares. But I didn't know what to make of that. I'm not especially domestic, awake or asleep.
When I woke up, I also thought: Ho Wares or Ho Wears. (Prostitution is an element in a novel of mine.) House also brought to mind "publishing house."
Anyway, it felt important. And writing-related, but maybe not.
I know that telling one's dreams outside the company of students of dreams can be considered tedious and obnoxious.
But it so grabbed me that I can't resist. If it triggers associations in you, I'd love to hear.
