I lived at RiverPlace for 17 years. Some people, moving to a new place, would immediately want to reach out and involve themselves in activities, meet new neighbors, craft a new style of living. Not me. Being a bit of a recluse, I'm spending a lot of time in my new space, petting my car, playing on my computer, feeling the slow accumulation of familiarities, finding places for the few things Lizz didn't unpack for me (and some of the ones she did).
One odd side effect of the new space is the quality of my dreams. They have gotten deeper, brighter, and much more detailed. This morning I woke from one with a Beatrice/Benedick theme to it. I had inhabited it so thoroughly that it took me an hour after I woke to escape the feeling of needing to hide my true feelings for fear of his scorn. And, dreams being dreams, he was Stephen Colbert. Sort of.
I think I need to get out more. The Alfred Hitchcock Film Festival here is showing "The 39 Steps" tonight. I should head on down, if only to be around other people and away from my computer. Though maybe, if I want to calm down my dreams, Alfred Hitchcock is not entirely optimal.