"Ozark"-induced dreams

​            Jonathan and I watched the first two episodes of “Ozark” last night, having heard rave reviews for quite some time. It’s gripping, well-written, and well-acted; also disturbing. I woke up from intensely vivid dreams this morning. Jonathan and I had just moved with our young teens to an unfamiliar place (like the family in Ozark). The house was huge, shabby, and unsettling, semi-furnished with some stranger’s things – worn beds and bedding shoved into rooms at odd angles. The walls had been roughly coated with spiky sweeps of spackling. The ambient light was gloomy, and I can’t remember any sense of space or distance outside the windows. At the end of an upstairs hallway where there should have been a door leading to a back stairwell, the wall had been coated over hastily with plaster. I still can’t shake the adrenaline-surged sense of threat and imprisonment that loomed over that dreamscape.
            I’m not sure I should continue watching this show.
 
My 60th year in 60,000 words
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