All things considered, it could have been much worse.
I had a black and white dream last night. I was in New York, all cold skyscrapers and lightbox grey skies. Paul McCartney had just died, and his ghost came walking by, a much younger, albeit spectral version of himself. We exchanged pleasantries before he continued on his way. Shortly after, John Lennon (again, fairly young) also appeared. I had to be the one to break the news to him about Paul's death. When I told him about ghost Paul, he became very excited and asked if he was still here; I told him, no, you just missed him.
Poor John. He seemed so sad, like he genuinely missed his former musical colleague. For all I know, these two Beatle ghosts are walking around in a vast city of my dreams, looking for each other.
Oh well. At least it wasn't Ringo.