I had this dream that I was being held prisoner by the cylons. (If you don't know, they're a race of robots not generally friendly to humans and why aren't you watching Battlestar Galactica yet?) In my dream we were all being held in rooms that felt like berths on a boat--small, but functional. Apparently they were interested in keeping us entertained, because they had Starbuck (I know. Is she a cylon too? Who cares. It's dream logic.) going around making sure everyone had something to read. She was explaining that she couldn't give me Diana Gabaldon's Outlander, because they only had four copies and the last one had to go to these women down the hall from me--at which point I burst out laughing and couldn't stop.
"How many copies of The Da Vinci Code do you have?" I asked. When she started to leave, I tried to get my giggling down to a minimum. "No--Starbuck. Captain Thrace. I seriously want to know." And I did. I probably need to let go of my work a little.
In another part of the dream, it turned out that my manager Jenny was a cylon, and for some reason she and I were at this big chest-thumping meeting. You know what I mean--"Oh yeah? Well, my government can beat up your government!" We started a tickle fight, and then when people noticed us I tried to use it as an argument not to go to war against one another. "We could have horrible bloodshed...or a tickle fight! Who's up for it?"
p.s. I brought the skids out last night and although I did, yes, again, get stuck in the doorway and require coaching, I brought them out and parked them in a beautiful straight line and it was no big deal. Except to me, as you can tell, because I'm blogging about it. Affirm me!