In this dream I had returned to Camden and I'm living there now in a large stone house just like this one, on the ground floor. I had jus arisen from a night of multiple awakenings and I believe my father was coming over to visit me specifically because I had just got back recently from Miami. And as he is coming downstairs, or rather as he was walking toward the door on the outside to one of the doors, I leave by another one, but he sees me before he enters. He's with some friends, I believe, one of whom is his wife's daughter. Upon seeing me, she says, "Is he here again?" and this she refers to another person only living on the upper floor who is also me. It's as if two of me, both dressed in terry cloth dressing robe. My father and I greet one another and the notion of breakfast is somewhere, but I don't know where, and either he's just had breakfast or we are going to have breakfast or something. At any rate, next scene. I am engaged in a conversation with a large group of people, two of whom are my father's wife's daughter and her other daughter, both are married. I am talking more directly to the one married daughter who's closer to my age, but still I'm about two years older than she is -- three years maybe -- no, about five years. We are engaged in a conversation which is -- just before the dream ended -- had turned into an argument. I was maintaining I was going to become something, and she was maintaining that was not possible. Seemingly as proof, she called her husband out and explained as he stood there like a living example of living ineptitude, how he was incapable of reaching a certain position that he desired because he didn't have the education to do it even though he was a college graduate, and he meekly agreed, with a  slight humble protest. He was dressed in a peculiar sort of an outfit. It looked something like a one-piece playsuit. The trouser part was claim diggers, the upper part was like a shirt -- all one design with a zipper down the front. The design was a dark blue pattern, green and brown mottled sort of effect. She and I were arguing really head to head and there was an underlying tone of bitter sort of a one-upmanship involved. This whole conversation was taking place in what seemed to be a large alcove on the upper floor of this house, and a lot of people were seated on the floor. I think there was a rug on it, as we were seated on the floor, too. It was pretty crowded and I think my father was there watching the whole thing. The husband of this girl at one point seemed like John Clark, but then at another point he didn't. It's hard to say, especially since I've never met her husband. That's not true. I don't remember him too well, but it didn't seem like her husband. It seemed like somebody else.