Man, what a weird dream I had last night. This is how it goes:

I’m standing in a room with about 20 other people–one of which is Alan and one of which is Aneel. Alan is meditating. Aneel is sewing drapes. I walk over to Aneel and ask, “Is that the right kind of thread for that fabric?” and he answered, “Hitler would approve.” Alan started calling me “Socrates”.

Then the dream shifted to a hill–I think it was in France–and we were all sitting on a quilt. Then it started raining and we all hid under the quilt. However, I pointed out that the quilt was suffocating us not unlike a plastic bag would, and everyone died except for me and Aneel.

We walked to this odd-looking building, which was apparently a police station. Aneel told the cops about everyone dying under the quilt, and one of the cops looked at me and said something along the lines of “death becomes the person who dances with pants of steel” and then, “you will be executed for the murder of 19 people!”

So I shout out, “BUT I’M SOCRATES!” And then I woke up.

Hehe. What a strange dream. I need to stop taking drugs.