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Displaced Class

Morning of January 1, 2015. Thursday.

Once again, I am back in Florida in my later childhood home (I was last there in 1978). It is eventually a quite vivid environment, but the living room is about four times bigger than it should be. My father's new room he built into the carport is also implied to be considerably bigger.

Mostly, I am aware of noise and music from an unknown source (seemingly from an undefined area to the northwest). After seemingly about twenty minutes, my oldest son's martial arts class, as it was when he was a lot younger (as he is about six years younger as well), comes into the house through the front entrance. The music is actually disco but I do not know the songs (which are possibly fictional). I am quite annoyed by the noise, and I do not even question why my son is suddenly younger or why the martial arts class is being held in the room my father built (it does not even dawn on me that my son has never been to America). I am standing near what would be the eastern wall, near the windows, looking west into the expanse of the room, which seems to have a slightly shiny and partly reflective floor (though the house had brown tiles everywhere in every room for the most part, speckled with completely different colorful patterns on each and every tile, some of which had various shapes, including anthropomorphic, much like "seeing" diverse imagery in clouds, sparking the imagination really).

The instructor (from real life) asks me if I mind the music they are using today (which is unusual in that it is very rare to have any music on during the martial arts classes in reality), some of which is apparently The Village People and some other disco tracks. Even though I find most dance music (and much pop music) highly irritating, I simply say that "I can take it or leave it this morning" so as to not create an argument of any kind (especially as the instructor looks very cheerful and kind), though the day itself really is not directly relative to my mood concerning the music. He seems to appreciate my honesty and willingness to allow the class to continue as it is, and they continue to go into the carport addition, all dressed in white martial arts uniforms.

What I find is that "noisy" dreams (where there is more of a cacophony) seem to occur more often in hot weather for some reason.

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