At night I dreamed about a thousand things, all fragmented. In one scene my uncle passed me a raw egg for lunch. I cracked it open and put it inside a glass and begun sipping it. I was surprised it was actually good and not nasty, and slightly salty without having put salt in it.

In another scene, I visited a former roommate who has a design school. She had transferred her school into an apartment building and it was all nice and well put together. Then she invited me into her personal dwelling, which looked like a janitor closet.

A flash of another dream just came back: I was in a rooftop terrace party and my mother was there. A bald man was smoking, and my mother came up to him and begun scolding him for smoking. The guy was confused and I came to my mom telling her “mom, that’s not me, I’m here and I’m not smoking” but my mother was too agitated to realize her confusion.

From Fragmented thoughts in Burgos (2025-07-05).