Sometimes when my eyes are closed in the shower

I try to ima­gine as vividly as pos­si­ble that I am in the bath­room in one of the pla­ces I have occu­pied in the past: in Cle­ve­land, on Comm Ave, in Cham­paign, in Naper­vi­lle. I think about where the mirror was, where the door was, what the sho­wer door/curtain loo­ked like, who might be downs­tairs or in the next room and what they might be doing, what the weather is like outside. It can become pretty con­vin­cing, and then I won­der if when I open my eyes I will actually find myself in one of the bath­rooms I was ima­gi­ning, and then I won­der whether it is a con­tra­dic­tion to think that that is something I would even be capa­ble of kno­wing to have hap­pe­ned, and then when I open them and believe myself not to have time-traveled I won­der if I actually did just arrive from thin­king about my 2008 bath­room in like 2011 or something.

I think I get this from a book I read as a tee­na­ger whe­rein this guy tra­vels to the 1920s or something just by coo­ping him­self up in an old Art Deco hotel and surroun­ding him­self with the appro­priate arti­facts and news­pa­pers for an ade­quate period of time.

Haha it is also I think the first place I noti­ced the word “shirt-sleeves” and I remain puzz­led by it to this day.