Last night I dreamed I was at a house.
It was an unfamiliar house, a quaint, white, one-story house with a front porch. It was mid-afternoon, and I wanted to sit on the wooden rocking chair on the porch, facing a screen door. I sat down on it, and leaned back to rock in it, and I immediately fell backward, hitting the floor. I got up, set the rocking chair upright, and tried to lean back again, not to rock, but simply to sit back in it, and right away it fell backward again, with me in it, my feet sticking in the air. After I got up, I tried the chair beside it, a pale, olive-green, upholstered rocking chair that looked like a La-Z-Boy recliner, but the same thing happened when I tried to sit back.
I gave up and walked through the screen door, into the house to find a quite area to sit, but there were people everywhere; I wanted to be alone. I walked further into the house, to the back, hoping to find an empty room, but there were people there too.
Somehow I knew I was in a dream and told myself so out loud. As I approached the back wall of the house, I held my right hand before me and sliced down, slicing through the air with my hand, then walked through the wall instead of colliding into it. But instead of walking through and ending up on the other side of the wall, I found myself in a black void where nothing existed, as if I literally walked outside the parameters of the dream, that the darkness was what my brain was actually seeing beneath my closed eyelids. I roamed for a while, looking around, seeing nothing but vague shadowy shapes within the blackness. I wasn’t afraid of a nightmare forming, but I was concerned that my dream was beginning to fall apart, because in the past, my dream world would immediately disintegrate around me the moment I realized I was having a lucid dream, waking me up. I turned around and walked back out of the void, back into the house, back into the rest of a dream I no longer remember.
February 8, 2016