Jetlagged dreams

So last night I was up til 4 am reading Barbara Kingsolver's Animal Dreams, which isn't nearly as good as Poisonwood Bible, but is still a decent read. And then I fell asleep and dreamed that the undead were attacking me and some other people, and one particular undead guy with, like, razors for teeth was right upon me and all I had were straws, literally sticks of hay, to defend myself.

So I asked the undead guy, who turned out to be sort of polite, actually, "Can you not kill me for, like 5 minutes, so that I can kind of reflect on my life?" planning, of course, to use those 5 minutes to plot an escape from the attacking undead, but he said, "Sorry, I can't do that."

So I asked, "Well, can you at least make it so it doesn't hurt when you kill me?" He looked sort of pained and said apologetically that he couldn't really do that either.

Yeah, I don't think it has anything to do with suppressed anxieties about starting law school either.