When you're in the middle of cleaning something out, or throwing something away, or moving an object from one place to another, and stop before you're done, you tend to leave things in places where they don't belong. Occasionally this is rectified in short order (in our house this happens when I trip over whatever it is that has not been put away and yell about it), but usually the misplaced item stays where it has been dropped for a very long time. The last time Rebecca cleaned out her room (eons ago; layers of sedimentary clothing and other detritus have accreted since then) she decided she no longer liked pigs and moved two framed pictures of pigs (one is the well-known painting by Jamie Wyeth and the other is a painting of a pig diving into a pond) out into the hallway. This is where they sit to this day, gathering dust and looking forlorn. I haven't decided what to do with them yet, not having another room that is conducive to hanging pig pictures. I don't want to put them in the basement (too damp) or the attic (we don't have one) or just trash them (spent too much money getting them framed). So there they sit, making me feel guilty about not clearing them out to a more suitable location. The guilt does, however, decrease over time and lately I haven't even noticed that they're sitting in the hall. I suspect that this is how one ends up with a rusted washer, an old davenport and several barrels on one's front porch and ceases to think there's anything odd about that.

Dreams: Something about people who had been modified in some way, like the pod people in Night of the Living Dead. Their modifications didn't work out and after they were dispatched, everyone who was left was told that we could take things from their homes.