You know that feeling when you drag yourself up from the depths of a particularly realistic dream only to stumble through your house like a stranger? Bathed in the buttery glow of early morning, the rooms are all the same: there’s salt in the pig, dust on the turntable. The down pillows on the sofa are dented just so (hi-YAH!) — and yet you turn down the hallway with fresh eyes, taking it all in the way you would when the light blinks green and the door swings open to a freshly turned hotel suite. It’s refreshing and disorienting and quietly intoxicating all … Read More