(Entered in paper journal at 6:15 AM on Q-train from Brooklyn to Manhattan.)
Dream #1
I was in my house. I went into my second room, the room I never use.
(In waking life, due to constant noise from my upstairs neighbors, which seemed to follow me from apartment to apartment, regardless of where I lived, since about early 2004, I had sought out a one-bedroom apartment. My plan was not to use one of the rooms -- it would serve as a buffer. The plan didn't help me much -- my upstairs neighbors in the place I lived in from January of 2007 through January of 2012 were always brutally loud.)
It was daytime, and greyish light filled the room. I was shocked by how little I knew this room. I felt ripped off in some way by the fact that I never used the room. I didn't even know it, I thought to myself. I proved how little I knew this room by looking at an enormous closet, which was on the right wall, just in from the door. I hadn't even known this closet existed.
The closet was completely empty. There were a few big shelves in the closet. They looked sprinkled over either with dust or with roach castings. I couldn't believe that dustiness or dirtiness was even beginning to encroach on a space I had never used.
There was a toilet facing out to the front window. I sat down on it. I defecated. My feces was really watery, and I felt like I was releasing little, white triangles of paper as I defecated. I may have felt bad when I thought of flushing the toilet, thinking that something bad might happen since the toilet hadn't been used in so long.
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