I had a very, very bad dream last night. And by bad dream, I mean, ‘someone I care about bleeding to death and I could have prevented it’ bad dream. The kind of bad dream, that, when you drift back towards sleep afterwards and, for a moment, begin a dream where you’re at work, the printer is broken, and there are locusts on everything, it’s a blessed relief.

While I can guess where some parts of the dream had their origin in the discussions and reading material of the previous days, some superstitious part of me wonders if it isn’t some sort of karmic smackdown for my presumptiousness in wresting control of my dreams into my own hands. Either that or the revenge of the Monster Department.