My dreams last night included the attempted rescue of three gray whales. Rescued from what, the dreams didn't say; many of the details how, the dreams didn't say. All I know is that somehow, somehow, one gray whale was put into one house's indoor pool and two gray whales were put into the same house's other indoor pool. (Oh, the other indoor pool? A larger indoor pool. Of course.) Which worked until it didn't, because I and apparently everyone else who knew that the gray whales -- which, remember, are the size of buses -- were in said pools didn't freaking check on them overnight after they'd been rescued and put into those pools. And I found the two whales in the larger pool, drowned, but intertwined like the two of them were hugging. I don't remember the final state of the lone gray whale in the other, smaller pool. Maybe I didn't want to know. Maybe my nose didn't want to know. (I mean that seriously. I've smelled in my dreams. Heck, at least once I've tasted in my dreams.)
They hadn't been spouting. I didn't realize that until after the whales were dead. So my dream-self forgot to have the creatures breathe. Maybe I simply was thinking about other big stuff and just assumed that since they were still moving, as much as they could in house pools, that they were OK.
They weren't. And that made me sad. It was 0% successful, as opposed to the 100% successful whale rescue in Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home. And those were humpback whales, which are even larger.
The dreams also included me for some reason trying to park a car as close to a house's full garage as possible for reasons that escape even me (and bemused my dad and his brothers), a bus making a scheduled and expected stop inside a Nike Store (maybe the stop was arranged specifically for anno_superstar) and a discussion of how lovely a song Mark Knopfler's "Prairie Wedding" is, because a dream of mine is never just about sadness.