A Dream

Halfway up a hill is a big three story unpainted house. The mailbox is at the bottom of the hill, there is a mudpuddle driveway leading up to the house and past, to the top of the hill. The weather is cold and wet, the sky is dreary. There are no visible colors. I guess this dream is like sepia toned?
This house is old and disorganized inside. There's junk everywhere. Useless junk. A piece of a broken rusty chain, horseshoes, a table with a splintered leg. It's like looking at the contents of a junk drawer, and everything is rusty.
I walk up the hill to see my alligators. They are in cement cells, submerged in a pond. I walk along the tops of the walls. Almost like walking a balance beam or a railroad track. The water below in each of the cells is dark and there are some weeds growing up out of the water and in the cracks in the concrete. The alligators are watching me, but they know who I am. I'm the one who feeds them. I feel annoyed that I'm stuck taking care of them. I resent them.
I walk back down to the house, where I have just finished making Thanksgiving dinner. (I have no memory of doing the actual work, but you know how dreams are...) I have set up the picnic tables in a row out back. I can see out the kitchen, through the laundry room, out the back door, straight to the banquet. I see big mounds of dirt have gotten closer to the patio. I think to myself: "Alright, I've had it. They're sneaking up on my Turkey! I'm going to shoot them once and for all!" (The alligators in disguise).
So, I go upstairs to a bedroom where the old man and old woman are asleep in their bed. I open the big wooden dirty gun cabinet. I see a rifle with a busted stock, a rifle with no hammer, a shotgun that MIGHT work, but I can't find the right kind of cartridges. I've got quite a pile of gun-junk spread around me, but I can't put a gun and a bullet together. I look over and see a snake crawling up the side of the bed. I calmly reach over and snatch it by the neck. I squeeze it's head. It's jaw bends completely sideways and it's head flattens out, but when I release the pressure, it all springs back into place. I tried to squeeze it's head off again. Still didn't work. So I decide to cut it's head off with a knife. I know I have a knife in my purse. I carry the snake to the hall table where my purse sits. I dump my purse out. There is a black knife, no. A swiss army knife, no. A pen-knife, no. Where is my Silver Knife? For some reason I was very upset that I couldn't find my Silver Knife. No other knife would do.
I was annoyed AND frustrated at this point.
And I woke up.

Note:
The house appears in many of my dreams as does the alligator pond and the old man.
I get the feeling that this has something to do with my attitude of "I'm tired of doing stuff without the proper tools!" Which is my rant when I bust my knuckles while trying to fix something.
But why wouldn't I consider any other knife?
And I can always go yell at the alligators and they will go back to their cells. (In my mind, they are like annoying dogs)

Psychoanalyze This.
MsAmber