Dream of: 10 August 2001 "Kafkaesque"

I was in a nice hotel room, probably on the ninth or tenth floor. I knew my wife Carolina would be showing up later to spend the night there with me, but when my lawyer-friend Jon (about 30 years old) unexpectedly showed up, I was happy to see him. He was in good spirits, smiling and laughing. I told him Carolina and I had stayed there in the hotel before. We liked to get away for romantic weekends; last week we had stayed in a motel in another city. We always ended up having good sex when we stayed in hotels like that.

I wondered if Jon would stay and I wondered if I would be uncomfortable having sex with Carolina while Jon was in the room. Regardless, I told him he could get a room of his own or he could stay there. Since my room cost about $75, I didn't think he would want to spend the money on a room of his own. I told him the problem with staying there was that there was only one bed. But there were plenty of blankets and I was thinking that to be hospitable, if he wanted to stay, I would give him the bed and Carolina and I would sleep on the floor on the blankets. I suddenly realized, however, that two other beds were in the room – three beds in all, enough for everyone.

When I heard a noise coming from one bed, I walked over to it, pulled back the blanket and saw my pet Dalmatian Picasso lying there. I had forgotten he was also with me. Even with Picasso, we still had enough room for Jon. So it was arranged: Jon would spend the night there. He could chip in for the room fee and pay me later. I hoped I didn't forget to get the money from him. At the same time, both of us pulled wads of money out of our pockets. In the process, he grabbed my wad by mistake. Our money had become mixed up, but neither one of us was concerned; we were laughing too much and having too good of a time. He handed me a wad of money, but he was unsure it was the right wad. I pointed out that he was just like me with money: he just kept it in a wad and he didn't keep good track of it. I began counting out the bills in the wad; some were large. But I had no idea whether this was the correct wad or how much money I had. Finally I made a joke of it. I held several bills in each hand as if they were drumsticks and began acting as if I were playing on an imaginary drum. I was trying to show how much fun we were going to have that night. Our plan was already beginning to develop: we would go out and get drunk on alcohol, then return to the room and pass out. Of course I was planning to have sex with Carolina when I came back. It was going to be one heck of a fun night. I pointed out to Jon how nice it was to get drunk and not have to worry about where we were staying, to just have a place to come back and fall down in. Both of us were already in high spirits; in fact, it seemed as if we might have already started drinking something.

Something, however, was bothering me; several times, as we had been talking, some people had walked though the room. They entered through the main door and exited through a rear door. This last time one of them had been pushing a tray of food and had left the tray in the room. Jon took advantage of the tray and piled a plate of food for himself to eat. I pointed out that he must be hungry. But I didn't like these people coming in and out of the room – especially since by now I had taken off my clothes and was lying naked under the covers. When a woman who obviously worked for the motel once again traipsed through the room, I hollered out to her that I wanted her to stop coming through the room. She halted and said she had to come through the room to reach the kitchen because something was blocking the normal passage through the hall. I protested that this was intolerable; I stood up in the bed, still holding the cover in front of me, and said I was going to be walking around naked in the room. She acted as if my nudity didn't make any difference and she walked out. I stood on the bed, exasperated, and said to Jon, "We've got people coming through our room. Its like something…." I was going to say "Kafkaesque," but I realized Jon would have no idea what "Kafkaesque" meant. But the word seemed so apropos: this was like something that Franz Kafka would write about, wasn't it? – uninvited people walking back and forth through a room. Realizing my sentence was still uncompleted, hanging in the air, even though Jon probably didn't understand, I muttered, lowly, "Kafkaesque."

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