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I dreamt the room was wrong.

A thing about my dreams, as I've said before: they are often both vivid and matter-of-fact. Big, detailed dreamscapes...in which I'm going shopping, or something else mundane. Like sleeping.

At my previous apartment, I once went in and out of a dream that was set in a dream version of that apartment, with the same furnishings and the same view of the small parking lot behind the building, except that each time I looked back at my car it had somehow, each time, moved. Like a giant hand had reached down while I wasn't looking and shifted it. Lucid dreaming and that state as you cone out of dreams: it can all be disorienting.

Last night reminded me of that. I woke up in my darkened bedroom, and it seemed like not-quite-my-bedroom. Things had shifted. My bed had shifted. I woke up enough to try and look at the room critically, pick up the clues provided by the tiny amounts of light provided by power strips and the computer, in order to figure out that no, nothing was shifted and nothing was different: I was just expecting the bedroom to look like whatever dream-bedroom I'd been dreaming earlier.

Good morning, I think. Good morning, I hope.