From the back of the room

 From the back of the room, a voice is yelling.  It seems like it might be yelling at me, but I really don't think so. I probably just think too highly of myself and I believe every action happening in a space where I am is about me. But the yelling continues.  I'm only like 20 feet away from the source, but I can't see who or what it is; it's like the room is out of focus.  Like I'm in a film, and the focus puller has made me clear in the foreground, but given the background a hazy, out of focus space to exist.

I don't even know what I'm doing here, I think.

I'm sitting in an old school desk chair - like the ones I knew growing up.  A chair with a little "desk" coming off the side and around to the front.  Why I'm sitting in one, I don't know. I haven't been to school in years.  Why does this feel like a classroom? And if it's a class... where's the teacher?

I don't have time to answer these questions, because the shouting suddenly becomes clearer and in focus to my auditory organs and I realize some one is shouting to me about... something I'm doing wrong, or did wrong.  I dunno, I don't speak the language they're using.  It's beautiful and melodious but something sinister hovers just below the surface with it.  I decide to ignore it.

Of course, I realize as the impossibly lit and pristine room comes into focus, I am dreaming.  What of again? I don't know.  Who cares. What does it matter? It's just my subconscious grabbing onto pieces of my shattered mind and thoughts.  It's trying to arrange these strange pieces into something that makes sense, but what my subconscious often forgets is that my thoughts have always been disjointed, disorganized and ultimately useless.

I don't care. I'm in a white classroom,  no teacher, faceless students all around except for on in the bag, playing hockey with my collective good memories and convincing me that they were terrible.  So I live the dream until I wake, unsettled and with the emotions and memories I saved from the recesses of my brain.

None of it matters.  Does it even matter when I wake up? Is this consciousness just a dream reality for someone else? Or a simulation... or a game?  I don't know.  All I know is that if this is a miracle cosmic experience, my trip around has been an interesting one.  I wonder how this path was chosen for me.  And for why?  I don't even really care. I'm just riding this one til it's done. Maybe then I'll sleep without these foolish and useless dreams.