There is a profound, quiet kind of grief in having too many "homes" and no single "Home."
When you move frequently, your internal map becomes a fragmented mosaic. Your subconscious doesn't have one singular foundation to build upon; instead, it has a collection of blueprints, echoes of different hallways, and the ghosts of rooms you no longer have a key to.
Your phrase "my dreams cannot compute" is striking. It suggests that your mind is trying to render a sense of belonging, but the data is too scattered. When the physical environment is always shifting, the brain often stops trying to map the present and instead retreats into a specific, idealized version of the past—that one home where you felt the most settled, or perhaps a version of a home that never quite existed but represents the safety you crave.
It sounds as though you are experiencing a form of spatial nostalgia—not necessarily for the house itself, but for the version of yourself that lived there, and the feeling of being "rooted" that comes with it.
If you feel like sharing more: Which home is the one your dreams keep returning to? Is it a specific place, or more of a feeling?