(no subject)
While cleaning out my desk at home in preparation for my flight, I came across my stack of index cards that I use to groggily record my dreams as soon as I wake. Here's one from Jan 13, 2002:
I hear a rumor that somebody is going to blow up an office building. I somehow find the bad guy and chase him to an empty building, where I set off the bomb and escape. However, I do not take credit for this because I don't want any suspicion upon me. Then I go to work and the girls comment that I smell like pork. Somebody replaced my X terminal with a Macintosh, but I manage to get Emacs working on it. I then have lunch with my sister in Tripoli [Iowa --ed.], and she mentions that Eugene O'Neill has breakfast every morning in Tripoli.
And from a week later:
My father is an amateur golf critic. He pisses off a famous golfer and the golfer asks to play golf with my dad to humiliate him. The golf course has a helicopter landing pad in the grass.
I hear a rumor that somebody is going to blow up an office building. I somehow find the bad guy and chase him to an empty building, where I set off the bomb and escape. However, I do not take credit for this because I don't want any suspicion upon me. Then I go to work and the girls comment that I smell like pork. Somebody replaced my X terminal with a Macintosh, but I manage to get Emacs working on it. I then have lunch with my sister in Tripoli [Iowa --ed.], and she mentions that Eugene O'Neill has breakfast every morning in Tripoli.
And from a week later:
My father is an amateur golf critic. He pisses off a famous golfer and the golfer asks to play golf with my dad to humiliate him. The golf course has a helicopter landing pad in the grass.