My interpretation of my Tuesday night dream:
The house represents me, my body. The first floor is like my root chakra, my basic metabolic system. This floor is okay: I'm alive; I'm not dying, but I'm not thriving either.
The second floor is . . . something I'm not quite sure of, yet. I think it might have to do with higher metabolic functioning, above and beyond mere existence. This floor is shabby: I'm struggling; things that used to be new and fresh are now old and tired and breaking down, not being replaced but still held in use beyond their usual lifespan.
The third floor is my mind, or my brain.
The decrepit condition of the third floor represents the neurological damage done by the ME/CFS I've had all my adult life. The fact that it shows so much damage yet no holes in the roof tells me the damage came from within, such as an internal metabolic process gone off the rails, rather than from without, such as a toxin or something else external that breached my body's defenses.
I am only visiting in the house: it is not my real home. I belong somewhere else (in a healthy, illness-free body), yet there I am, left alone on a holiday by the hosts.
The tv represents my fruitless attempts to get meaningful information about my illness from official sources, such as the CDC.
The man with the flashlight represents me, and my confused inability to figure out where to turn to "shed light on" how to manage my illness.
The young kitten also represents me: unworldly, vulnerable and unprepared, set loose in a dangerous landscape on my own.
The fire engine and rescue unit go slowly past on the street, not in any hurry; even their sirens are muffled. It can't be that much of an emergency, yet there they go anyway, responding. They pass right by me in the dilapidated house attending to something less serious, and I am left in the dark.