Last night, I dreamt about working on this table, laboring over its' clean lines and cute peg legs. I dreamt that I was sanding it down in an open garage and getting it ready for a deep stain with a light crackle paint coating to appropriately antiquate it. Never mind the fact that I have no open garage space, the only painting I've ever done is my nails, and as far as sanding goes, I can't even touch a nail file because it gives me the goose-bumps.
And as I walked by my dream table, patiently sitting in my hall to be dragged down to the dumpster, I imagined somehow dragging it down to my car, putting my seats down, shoving it in, and driving it to my aunt's house for safekeeping. Even know, I am imagining where this table could be theoretically placed in my phantom home. You may call me crazy, whatever that means, but I call the table possessed with the ability to draw me in.