Dreams for the Dead?

I journal this dream only because I'm reaching out to my fellow readers and bloggers for feedback. I recently had a dream that I was F. Scott Fitzgerald and somehow, without any knowledge of his life, I found myself in his home in days after his death.  The dream went like this:

Francis Scott Key-Fitzgerald

"...ah, the art of dream weaving. always an entertaining venture. today, i was privileged to walk on the time line of F. Scott Fitzgerald. it all started in an lavish apt home. there are many rooms. upper-middle class 40's style furnishings, books, TV sets, phones, desks, chairs, clothing, etc. tons of clothes were piled up in the bathrooms ridiculously. tossed about and dirty. no children were present. there were men in dark suits and hats, some with glasses and cigarettes, all hurrying about and walking around tending to things and moving things out of the house. there was a woman, young, blonde, astute in stature, holding onto her composure in the midst of what appeared to be an hour of drama or familiar chaos..."

Sheila Graham

"...moving from room to room, there were noticeable images of a home unkempt; dirty counter surfaces, bathrooms were filthy and disgusting and sinks were unclean; the toilet paper was soiled with human waste. the front room was fairly kept up and the den was okay but then we get into the library and there were a couple of dirty black plastic ashtrays, the TV was left on and the books were shelved, but dusty and unread for quite some time. then it hit. there was something to find here. without hesitation, i started searching through the piles of clothes, going through pockets of shirts and pants. i tried cleaning a bit as i went along as the filth was sore on the eyes and nose. i didn't find anything in the bathroom adjacent to the library so i sifted through a couple of his black leather wallets that were sitting on the small sofa near the TV and they were both empty. i tried looking in a couple more suit jackets and scanned the bookshelves but nothing was found. so i exited the the library and headed back up front to the main room. the fair woman was sitting at a small desk by the far wall that heads into the kitchen and the men in the black suits did not speak to me but made short eye contact as i walked out the door and woke up..."

1443 N. Hayworth Ave., West Hollywood: the apartment house where author F. Scott Fitzgerald died in 1940. He actually lived nearby at 1403 North Laurel Ave., but when he began suffering heart problems (shortly before his death), he was unable to climb the stairs to his second-floor apartment, so he moved into this first-floor apartment of his lover, Sheila Graham. He was working on "The Last Tycoon" when he died here.

Now after waking up, I pondered the dream and wondered what it was all about. The name, F Scott Fitzgerald came to mind. I have never read any of his literature, including Great Gatsby. I got online later that day and researched him. I found that he had an apt in CA, 1st floor, nice size, but his health was bad and he couldn't get to the 2nd floor where he stayed. It all started to click. The location was the CA Apt. the woman was Sheila Graham. The spirit-F. Scott Fitzgerald, himself. What was he looking for? He died 12/21/40 and it was 2/9/40; two months after his death. Their old home in shambles...he can't find what he's looking for in his old wallets or clothes. Whatever it was, it wasn't there. He straightened up the chairs and walked out and I woke up.

Fellow dream writers and readers...any idea what a dream like this could mean? Post a comment!  

~DeMaster Thomas~