I have a couple of these, some of which have already come up from others.
I have the uncontrollable superpower of falling off paperwork. If I get a speeding ticket, the points never get turned in. At the same time, odds are about even that they'll lose any trace that I'd paid it to begin with. I had a state agency not say a word to me for 7 years regarding a work obligation connected to a scholarship, then come out of nowhere claiming that I hadn't responded to them for the previous 5 years and to submit proof now or start paying the penalty. I once had my company health insurance given to a woman halfway across the country instead for a few weeks and we're not that big of an outfit.
I do the prophetic dreams thing sometimes too -- it's not terribly often, but it's blatantly obvious when it's a prophetic dream, because my "normal" dreams resemble something that would be created if Escher and the guy behind Antichamber got together and took a lot of acid. Except for the last two rooms. Those are always the same.
One is a circular white room with brightly glowing walls, like the place is made of fluorescent light. In the center is a dais made of some kind of black stone (onyx, maybe? It's black, shiny, and smooth.) bearing a statue made of the same material -- a man, well dressed, but with unsettling features, something about them is just not right somehow. He's holding an inkwell in one hand and a book in the other, open and turned to face me. The book and the quill in the inkwell are not part of the statue. The book is filled with writing -- I can make out letters and symbols from various languages (characters from one or another Asian language here, Russian letters there, another is made entirely of little triangular marks in various patterns) but for some reason I can't actually read any of them. I do know one thing though -- I am certain, despite not being able to read them, that the book is full of names. Sometimes I try to sneak around the statue, but no matter how far I walk, I never seem to go anywhere when I try to go around it. I always end up going before the statue, and signing my name in its book, and then pass it into the room beyond.
The other room is made entirely of the same material as the statue except that the back wall is alive. The exact nature of it varies from night to night -- sometimes it's covered in faces, sometimes it's a mass of tentacles, sometimes it's a single giant face, or various configurations and numbers of limbs, or something else entirely. It's always a living, moving mass, and it usually speaks to me -- sometimes it tries to teach me things (that I never seem to remember properly the next morning -- only the broadest strokes), sometimes it talks about my life, sometimes it doesn't make any sense (mostly cryptic, rambling stuff), sometimes it just tries to eat me, or pull me apart (especially if it lacks mouths from which to speak). I always end up here though, and for once, the rest of the room appears to generally be able to exist in 3 dimensional space as we think of it.
