Temka Vegtamchik'a

I had a dream over a week ago; I kept forgetting to write it down here.

In the dream, I flew to visit a classmate in Khabarovsk (he's studying there now). He led me into what seemed like a dorm room. I remember it was evening, the room was about twelve square meters, with a table in the middle and sofas on either side of it. There were also cabinets in the room. The window was wide, wooden, Soviet-era, and there was a balcony door next to it.

The first clear moment – it’s dark outside, the light is on, and I’m sitting on one of the sofas. A small girl is sitting to my right; it seems we are celebrating her birthday. On the sofa opposite, a short-haired guy is leaning on his fist, looking at me, listening, but not understanding anything because he has already had too much to drink. I remember eating a sandwich with smoked cheese.

Fade out.

I wake up early in the morning, around seven o'clock, and it’s already bright. As it turns out, I slept on the same sofa where I sat yesterday, and that guy is sleeping on his sofa. I get up and walk over to the balcony – all the windows are frosted over, and you can’t see anything through them (but it’s warm inside). Suddenly, a crow starts pecking its way through the double pane of the balcony door. The crow is somehow suspended in mid-air in the center of the glass on the other side and methodically pecks at the glass, leaving a neat round hole exactly the size of its beak, which expands with each peck.

Fade out.

I am renovating this room. I order plastic window frames by phone to replace the wooden ones, and I ask for the window to be made smaller in height. Then I look at the finished window; it became smaller due to a strange large cavity made of metal. It’s for kittens. Orange and striped ones. And there is no longer a balcony, although there is still a door leading to it.

The picture is attached: before and after the renovation.



I woke up, jumped out of bed, grabbed a pen and notebook, and quickly wrote down everything I remembered.