I was tinkering with a mess of stereo equipment after noticing it was playing on the main speakers even though I had headphones plugged into it. I was concerned that I had been disturbing my neighbors.
During my inspection of the elaborate controls while I tried to figure out their purpose, I noticed an old lady walk up and sit in my desk chair. She was diffuse enough that it clued me into the fact that I was dreaming.
me: "Hey old lady! Who are you? Where are you from?"
old lady: "Oh, I'm from far away."
me: "Okay, uh...if you had to guess where I was from, then where would you say? What AM I?"
She didn't have an answer, and she generally seemed to be fumbling for words.
me: "Well, can you tell me something of interest? Do you consider yourself alive? Dead? What? I mean, I'm just not used to seeing..."
old lady: (interrupting) "Not used to seeing people show up in your bedroom? Yes you are."
Her face started quivering and getting closer and farther away.
me: "You're moving around too much. Stop doing that."
old lady: "I'm sorry but bobbing around is just a habit, it's a tick I can't do anything about."
To keep "in sync" I would remind her not to veer too far off, or she would kick me and I would then touch the foot to say "still here".
me: "Well I haven't always been used to phantom people showing up in my room. How do I reconcile this with the materialist interpretations of people around me?"
old lady: "Why worry about it? What makes those people important? Rebuild new ones from scratch!"
me: "I'm unable to do that."
She was wavering, and I followed her onto a couch that was rapidly raising off the ground into some kind of ledge. As I did, she was getting younger and we caught a reflection in the mirror. There was another girl behind us at a table.
girl: (resignedly) "Oh no, you're quite good at it. Especially with that kind of girl."
me: "What do you mean by 'that kind'?"
girl: "It's all about the hair caught in the wind..."
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