The room is empty-ish. There aren’t a lot of furniture; but there are people walking back and forth. I think it’s my house – though I have never set my eyes on it before. We’re on the top floor. Who are these people? I don’t seem worried. I mean, I am me; but I am also an observer, outside. I don’t exactly know what I am thinking. Or I have forgotten it upon waking. I think I see myself from outside. I am not sure. Is it a feeling? Or does it mean something? Being outside and inside at the same time?

James Franco strolls in from one end, as cool as you please (now where did he spring from? something I watched recently, no doubt) and says a line I have heard him deliver before, with that ever familiar crinkled-eyes smile. And then he’s gone. People just talk and laugh like they never do in this side of life. There is no connection between anything. There was a sighting of an old heart throb. A fleeting image, but one that stayed.

I come down (or watch myself come down) the staircase and the building grows into a rocky valley with a waterfall nearby. Very green surroundings (yes, it isn’t black and white). Right out of a painting. I am not surprised; no one else seems to be either. Everything seems natural; everything is real – the odd appearances and disappearances and transformations are nothing to be concerned about. Maybe the transformation was smooth; it is just that I remember it in jerks and jumps.

It didn’t occur to me at that time, but days later, it comes to me: I used to know a house in the top floor where furniture was scarce, with a staircase outside. It never morphed into a waterfall, though. Not that I knew of.

I have gone to sleep in this world and woken up in a different world, like an avatar in Pandora, where everything is different, and science as we know it doesn’t apply all the time. That’s why there are no surprises. It is as expected. It’s our entry to the alternate universe. Through the looking glass? We aren’t back here. Only our shell is. We’re over there. Light years away. Sometimes I wake up into a nightmare. Perfectly natural.

In fact, when I go to bed (here) in a few hours, I will wake up in that world and say to myself – What a weird dream! I was sitting at a table with something on my lap and punching it with my fingers and calling myself a writer (ha! ha!) Oh, there was a funny word – ‘blog’. I guess I made it up myself. What a strange world, where waterfalls don’t grow out of buildings and James Franco doesn’t wander in from one end or vanish at the other…!

Which one of these is real?

I think I’m going nuts.