It took me some time to get to sleep that night. When I did, my fears blossomed into a nightmare:
I was, alone, in a dining room, with a heavy mahogany table and the walls were covered with a rich velvety wallpaper. Silver service laid on lace tablecloth, adorned about with plates of food.
In contrast to the evening’s fears of expanses, I now began to feel uncomfortably contained in my body, in this oppressive room; my apprehensions grew with every breath, and then I noticed some changes that restricted my enclosure upon me in a way I could not have expected:
There were no straightforward physical barriers developing, nor did the walls begin to close in on me; rather I began to perceive things differently – or rather, the reality of the situation changed. I had been looking at the contents of my plate, glancing fearfully away from it up to the ceiling every so often, lest it come crashing down upon me. But then the changes began: suddenly, the lampshade on the ceiling and the plate on the table were not separate things, but rather one thing; still the lampshade and the place, but now thoughts of separating them were impossible.
I pulled my eyes away from this transfiguration, allowing my sight to escape to the door, only the door was now not only the door, but simultaneously the lower shelf of the bookcase on the opposite end of the room, and then the bookcase as a whole became the bookcase and the table; this room was folding in on itself, but in no straightforward way; I tried then to look down, and found that the floor had become the floor and the ceiling, and then, all at once, up was combined with down.
I suddenly awoke, with the thought “What must be becoming of me?”