Hallu-hallu-cina-cina-cina-tion-tion-tion

[Beginning of dream, with credits, lost.]

A friend and I are at a house, working on something (we are clutching stuff, but what the stuff is is gone) and talking (subject gone) for a while.  I discovered that the ceiling is leaking onto a bed (there is a circumstance in which that has actually happened, but this isn't the place).  The friend, sounding like my mom (paging Dr. Freud!  Dr. Freud to the red courtesy phone!), complained about my inability to get anything done and eventually directed me up a flight of stairs with ratty carpeting (instead of the folding ladder, which exists but isn't used in the dream) to a secret (and open) door at a half stair part of the way up.  Instead of mostly empty space just under the roof, there is a storage warehouse.  Really.  Except for the part over the bed, which didn't exist.  There were shouts from downstairs; that turned out to be either my sister and brother-in-law or two other friends (maybe they morphed a lot).  The female of the pair announced her pregnancy, with synonyms, and then we all had to leave.  Somehow, we got on a train and agreed not to go all the way to Penn Station, and I saw abandoned stations and sidings, and then I woke up.

Huh.