How Does One Title A Dream?

I was in this immense house, belonging to an particular Aunt that I see less often than others.
A beautiful, elaborate place, with memorably high-ceilings.

I remember coming around a wall, a bookcase perhaps, given it's odd placement.
And I was twirling. I might've been carrying something that upset my balance.
Or perhaps I was just reveling in the carelessness that young girls do.
But I couldn't stop in time, and bumped into an enlarged version of a privacy screen, meant for decorative purposes.

I was certain it would fall, but it didn't.
From there I found a carpeted staircase, which was my intended destination.
So I climbed.
It led to a loft area, with an immense bed//mattress that angled downward, jutting out over the room below in which I came from.
There were other, misplaced stairs, that I could see under and to the left of the mattress.
No access, no purpose. They were just there.

The mattress itself was not angled enough to be threatening, but called for caution nonetheless.
I started to climb on, it was like difficult to navigate, much like a waterbed. Except there was no water.
I had worked my way onto the mattress enough, that although it felt like I was lacking support behind me, I felt that logically I was safe.
Not the case, I felt myself starting to hang over the edge, dangling above the room below, but managed to pull myself back up.
After that, my only goal was to reach the middle, the obvious place of safety.
However, the bed felt that this was not meant to be an easy task, and I woke up from thoughts of wrestling my way to the center but never actually making it.