This is a day for little posts. And here’s my latest. Last night I had a dream in which I was driving with my family on a highway beside a lake. I pulled over so one of our dogs could pee. And the entire road was covered in a rather gaudy berber carpet, the kind that was in your neighbor’s wood-paneled basement in the late 70s. Here’s the really weird thing though. I never paused to ask why the highway was carpeted. I never took this as a clue that I was dreaming. Any moderately reflective individual would have clued in that this was a dream at which point they would have willed that the car they were driving turn into a Porsche Panamera so they could have some fun. But me? I just let the dog pee on the highway carpet, got back in the bland green dream van, and started driving again. I don’t need any psychoanalysis of that weird dream. I just wonder why I don’t clue in more often when my dream scapes are really bizarre.