Dreams Are Whacky

I just had a strange dream in which I declared “you can’t talk about alzheimer’s without bringing up gangrene,” in which the right of Americans to lock doors was considered sacred and Glenn Reynolds was agitating on the topic, in which a science fiction convention was in a cross between a mall and a hospital and the first floor where the staff massed was simber but the rest was fun, and in which my brother was there getting no sleep and volunteering to attend free, then my brother morphed into my nephew and I stabbed an obnoxious staff person in the head with the pin on a badge holder who wrongly insisted my nephew had to use a name and not a number on his name badge.

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