Afterwards
For every night of the week after I got back to my apartment (but not the night I spent at my friend’s place in Milwaukee directly after I returned to the States) I would wake up several times during the night, while dreaming that I was travelling someplace in England or Scotland (and I think, in France).
What makes it weird is my poor eyesight, which, combined with a low level of light (from the curtained patio door and the displays on the various electrical devices around the room), would make the dream setting and reality seem to merge before I managed to realize that I was still in my apartment. For that moment I always managed to wonder that my glasses and alarm clock were always beside my bed no matter where I was. I guess that was what would finally convince me that I was still at home.
My bed sits in a corner of the efficiency apartment: to the left is the wall that hides the walk-in closet and bathroom, while to the right is a lounge chair and another wall, with a curtained patio door. While my dreams and reality were sorting themselves out, they took on shapes and meanings that pertained to the dreams: columns, doorways, etc. (the brain’s pattern recognition system taking over from dreaming, trying to reconcile the two? Who knows?) until, blearily, they became my apartment.
I had dreams where I was sleeping in places, out of doors, in public places, and they all seemed so real. Now normally I don’t remember my dreams, but this is an exception.
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