Whoah.

The other night was one of those dreams where you wake up and are amazed that it's only eight hours later, because you've lived years in your dream...

• Bobbi bought a new house out in the Pacific Northwest someplace. It was in this small old town that overlooked a little city in a valley ringed by steeply rising forested mountains. Great view from the porch.


• John Shirley came for a visit. We were going to go to some shooting school or another, and we were going to have to fly there.


• The night before we left, the airline on which we were going to fly had a crash in the hills outside of town, bellying another 747 into the trees.


• The plane John and I were to fly on, another 747, was flown by some ex-fighter jock. He wanted to give us a real good look at the wrecked jumbo, so on climb-out, he pushed over and hugged the crest of the hill outside of town. As the plane crested the ridge, you could hear treetops scrape the belly of the plane. I can't remember why, but he'd invited us into the cockpit, (like they used to could, back when air travel was fun,) and there out the window on the upslope across the valley, was the broken fuselage and wings of a red 747 and I thought "Great, now there's going to be two," but miraculously, we didn't crash.


• Later, after returning home, I was going to visit a friend in a secure area of the airport, and I remembered, as I was pulling up to the security gate, that my range bag was in the trunk. Of course there was a whole line of cars waiting to get in behind me, and the dude behind me was really rude when I went to go ask him to back up a little so I could U-turn out of there.