In the night from monday to tuesday, July 31:
Bowling Balls In The Living Room
I dreamed that my friends Anne and Simon, a couple, took part on a competition. A sports which Simon has obviously brought into the relationship: They had to roll a bowling ball through parcours to the destination - a little hole in an ordinary flat. The flats of the teams were the stadiums.
It was the final of the nationwide championship, I felt in the dream, and it was not in the flat of Anne and Simon. They had to play in a very bourgeois living room. When I came in, Simon had his last throw: The bowling ball had to start on a table. The parcour, out of books and something I've forgotten, should bring it in circles to the hole under the table, hidden between ice made out of nitrogen. The referee, an old woman, often put the pieces of the ice together - with her hands in gray gloves.
Simon got his first two shots. But he also needed the third one, the last. If the ball runs into the hole, they will win, if not, they will loose the whole competition. Simon let fall the bowling ball on the table, in a metal starting-cage. But he couldn't hit the right point. The bowling ball landed in the back part and the starting-cage went to the wrong side. They lost the final.
Now it was fixed that the first match of the next competition will happen in Annes and Simons flat. Always the loser team has to be the host. In my last view I saw Simon answering to a journalist, that they think now to change the place. Maybe even the whole region.
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