I'm in a place where I work - it's rather like a workshop, a wood building, not very big, small staff - it's rather late to be here, darkening outside, we're leaving for home. I'm taking a cat (MB?) with me because she's sick - I'm going to my house.
I'm driving on an open road - there are other roads that don't quite criss-cross, but curve around each other, and I take the wrong one. I round a curve to the other side of the road to make a [wonky sort of] U-turn by heading into a ditch and turning around again, facing the car out of the ditch. I hope the car will do it. It does. I come back onto the road and among the (very light) traffic from the direction I'm now going comes a guy on a bicycle. He closes in and is ding me - there's something suspicious about him and what he's doing, I think I need to get away from him. I knock him over - by swerving the car or something - and drive on, but I'm sure he gets up and follows me - or at least keeps going my direction. I arrive at my house, and he goes to the house next door.
Inside my house, in a sort of garden room, I can see through a kind of window to the window of the house next door. He's with a group of people, sort of a small party, and he can't see me.
I like this house. It is my house, I live here, but it's as if I don't usually see it this way. I get up and go looking around at things, and the sensation is as though my time here is usually a dream and this time it's real - and the more I think that, the more intense the feeling becomes. [I am still at this writing aware of the sensation, though it's fading.] This isn't a dream at all, I'm really here. I go from room to room - this is a slightly upscale suburban-type house, one story, with untypical-of-me contemporary furniture, carpets, plants, lightish colors, things like apricot and tan and peach or gold. The garden room is not a patio, it's well inside the house with (I think) only one outside wall. It's for relaxation and comfort. There's a good-sized den, the sort that's wide open, kitchen on the other side, long couches and soft carpet, cushions. Then I go to another room that's dark. I find the switch to turn on the lights, but they don't come on. It's pitch black and I can't even see what kind of room it is, but I thought it was a bedroom. It's a little unnerving. I go to the next room and the same thing happens with the lights, but after a minute my eyes begin to adjust and I can see dimly that it's my real bedroom and not in this house at all. I realize that I'm slipping back into the real world. I don't want to, but it's happening too fast to do anything about it. I'm disappointed.