Calm snake in damp Laundry before Job Interview

"I was sitting on the tiled floor of my basement trying to sort a massive pile of damp laundry, except I kept getting distracted by a weirdly bright yellow lamp that wasn't plugged into anything. When I pulled a heavy bath towel out of the basket, there was a long, dull green snake coiled underneath it, thick as my wrist, just resting on a pile of socks. It didn't rattle, hiss, or strike. It just shifted slightly, its scales making a soft *shhh* sound against the cotton. I reached out and gently moved it aside to get to a shirt I needed for a job interview I hadn't prepared for, and it was cool to the touch, heavy like a garden hose filled with wet sand. Suddenly I wasn't in the basement anymore; I was standing in a sunlit kitchen making coffee, but the snake was draped over my shoulders like a scarf, lazily wrapping around my arm every time I reached for a mug. Someone-maybe my old coworker-walked in and asked if I had seen their keys, completely ignoring the python-sized thing hanging off me, and I just pointed at the counter while carefully pouring the hot water. I wasn't scared or thrilled or anything, just vaguely preoccupied with keeping my elbows level so it wouldn't slide off onto the linoleum. When I woke up, my left arm was totally asleep from lying on it weird, but I just blinked at the ceiling for a second and went to make tea."