(Entered in paper journal at 8:12 AM at Connecticut Muffin in Windsor Terrace, Brooklyn.)
Dream #1
It was daytime. I was in my bedroom. The people upstairs from me started making a lot of noise on my ceiling. I got really angry and grabbed one of my bed-frame rods (in waking life, my bed-frame rods stood against my wall; I never assembled my bed frame) and slammed it against the ceiling. Each time I did this I got weaker and weaker, so that I would hit the roof more and more softly.
I lay down on my bed and looked up at my ceiling, which was full of marks where my slamming against the ceiling had pushed in the sheet-rock board.
The noise from upstairs started again. For a moment I thought I couldn't bang on the ceiling anymore. I'd just caused too much damage already. But the noise got worse and worse, until I no longer cared about the damage.
I grabbed the bed-frame rod and slammed it against the ceiling. This time I slammed it so hard that it crushed the ceiling upward. A section of the ceiling (the ceiling was now painted grey (?)) curved inward in a roughly triangular shape. The gypsum inside bloated out thickly, as if it were more like insulation.
I tried to figure out how I would justify my broken ceiling to my landlord. I thought I could possibly justify it by saying how awful my upstairs neighbors were and how angry they finally made me.
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