There was an unsolvable water problem with my apartment, so the manager and I agreed that I should move out.
I woke up one morning in a strange place, with trees and shrubs hiding buildings across the street. My new apartment seemed odd in some indefinable way. I ran outside in my nightshirt in my excitement because I was at street level. As I reached the end of the drive, I remembered that I did not have the keys with me. I thought I would be outside in my nightshirt for a long time, but a group of elderly people appeared and tried clumsily to open the outer door. I yelled for them to wait for me and to let me into the building, but I don't know how I got into the apartment.
Suddenly, it hit me that I had left behind my view of the lake, and I began to agonize over whether it really had been necessary. I kept looking around at this interesting and somehow magical place, and at the street view, and wondering if I had made the right choice. In my heart, I felt I had made a mistake of a lifetime.
Out of the blue, a friend called to explain a situation. I was wary, but he wanted to come over. Somehow he managed to, and we found ourselves in what looked like a dark school hallway. Nothing made sense to me—the place, his presence, what he was saying, why he was saying it. I was more confused and frustrated than happy.