This morning, I woke up feeling very ill. There didn’t seem to be much else to do but wait for recovery, and so I slept.
In my first dream, I was on holiday in the summertime, staying in a bedroom on the top floor of someone’s two-storey house on the borders of a town at the countryside. The grey sky cast a layer of shadow over the house, and the rain fell lightly outside. I briefly looked out the window, and saw a small park on the ground level, a road outside the house leading both left or right, and rolling hills occasionally interrupted by lines of trees all the way to the horizon.
I was preoccupied with the room itself; I had been here before, in my childhood. It seemed more like I’d grown up here than visited – there were photos of me with people I didn’t recognise framed in the room, and scattered across the floor were items I got a familiar feeling from, ones I remembered from my childhood. I remembered everything from my childhood, and eventually came onto the subject of other dreams. I realised that I was in a dream, thus ending the dream. Continue reading