I have long believed that dreams hold no great significance for the real world. They are not prophetic, are not psychic, do not represent our memories of astral projection. They are simply the equivalent of the brain preforming scandisk and defrag.

However, occasionally I have one that's worth recording. So with this morning. I passed a much-interrupted night, waking at one point because a cat jumped on me; at another because I was drenched in sweat and had to remove my shirt; at yet a third because the neighbor kid had got out of the house, gone exploring in the dark, and stranded himself atop the wall between his house and lysander_cat's and then become too frightened to get back down in the dark.

Nights of disturbed sleep are nights when I'm more likely to remember my dreams. I woke up this morning, then, with the memory of the most recent fresh in my mind. childofsnow and I were attending an SCA camping event, and we were sitting in camp, playing cards with the King and Queen, who were, in the dream, posadnik_ivan and raventhourne, respectively.

childofsnow was wearing an elaborately embroidered wimple, and decided she needed to take it off. It was a cold, windy day, and she was afraid that the wind would carry off her wimple, and it was elaborately embroidered, so she didn't want to let it touch the ground, either. So she had me remove the doublet I was wearing, and clothe a chair with it, so that she might pin the wimple to the doublet. I complied, because that's the kind of guy I am.

However, I then discovered that it was cold in just my shirt, so I decided to walk out to the car, and get my gambeson out of my armor bag, which I had for some reason left in the trunk. I at first couldn't find the car where I left it, until I realized that that row of plastic outhouses had been moved to more or less where my car was.

I walked around them, and discovered that someone had dumped about a ton of concrete powder on my car, crushing it. The outhouses had been moved there to hide the results.