My brain doesn't seem to understand the concept of nightmares. You know, scary dreams that freak you out enough to wake you up so much so you can't get back to sleep? They're supposed to be about ghosts and goblins and monsters and serial killers... not for me, no way. I'm not sure if it's because I watch so many horror movies that the supernatural or criminal doesn't really scare me anymore, or because there are situations in the world today far, far more terrifying than the monster under the bed.

Anyway. Last night I had one hell of a nightmare that woke me up at 6am. And it was about...

Yeah, you read that right. My nightmares are about urban social problems.

If I'm having a quiet evening alone at home, before bed I often watch a short documentary. Narrators often have incredibly soothing voices, and why not learn something? I'm pretty addicted to Documentary Heaven. Last night I settled on Britain's Bad Housing. I remember Cherry talking about living in the UK and just how expensive rent is there, pretty much everywhere (and I though Vancouver was terrible!). I also really like watching Mike Holmes talk about shifty buildings, crook developers, etc., and then fix everything to higher standards or simply just to meet the damn building code. So I watched and learned about developer bribes to the government, escalating prices, and substandard building practices (like the guy who could hear the people living two floors above him through the empty flat between them, or the couple with slanting brick walls).

Really good overview of the current situation, and I found it quite applicable here on the west coast. (Here's looking at you, Olympic Village!)

But I guess combined with my scouting of a burned building site earlier in the week (*) this was just too much for my little brain to handle. In my dream, the floors weren't stable. The roof leaked, the walls were in danger of collapsing. I called my neighbours, the building manager, my parents, the police, building inspectors, and for some reason had to stay in my apartment for another few months. The dream-landlord said he'd give me free rent for the next three months because I shouldn't have to pay to live in a piece of junk (if only the real world worked like that!) but still, I was terrified. I slept on my air mattress on the floor by the closet so I'd have, hopefully, protection against a falling ceiling. Every time I took a step it was a gamble as to whether my stride would shake the place as if in an earthquake, or if I'd fall right through the floor. My lovely roof terrace was condemned as unsafe. By the time I woke up, I felt like I'd been living in fear.

Phew! A quick walk around my apartment proved that I did not, in fact, live in a crumbling mess, but in a sturdy old building with intact ceilings and floors that can take actual human activity. Still, it took a while before I calmed down inside.

* Like this:













Even nightmares won't stop me from exploring wrecks.