I rarely remember my dreams, which have always been largely dominated by nightmares anyway. But last night, I had a sort of strange writer's version of the "Came to school unprepared for the test" sort of dream we all remember from school.
In the dream, I was a kid again and I had been cast in the title role for the movie adaptation of "Howard Carter Saves the World". And even though I was just a kid, my fellow cast members and the director kept coming to me, demanding to know what this or that meant and asking me to explain all of the jokes to them.
Man, I was just a kid, what did I know about cold fusion and time travel?
Every time someone approached me to demand that I explain myself, my eleven-year-old mind froze and I stammered out a nonsensical answer that failed to satisfy anyone. Ere the end, I was being chased around the set, Benny Hill style only not as funny and without the saxophone music.
I won't inflict the casting decisions of my dreamworld upon you. I'd prefer that you mentally cast the story yourself. And anyway, whatever you think up will probably be better than the three-ring circus that my mind whipped up.
I did get to wear a wicked cool jet pack for part of the dream, though. So I guess that's something at least. Right?