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One dream had a rehash of the first Lord of the Rings movie. I was helping pyrogenic french-braid his hair, standing behind him and guiding his hands. Someone recommended a CD that you could get dead-plastic or from iTunes. The recommendation was from grifyn, and she said it was really pretty but far too happyhappyhappy. It was a quintet of monks of some sort, and they were the first group of that sort who'd had all the right voices in that year for some hundreds of years to form that type of group.

There was a weird drivingaroundplaces dream, and there was a mystery, and there were lawyers trying to figure the whole thing out. Meanwhile, metaphorge's son was sitting momentarily in a parked car in his car seat and was wreaking havoc with laundry baskets.

Really. Honestly. Must I check my webmail in my dreams?
Gone away, gone ahead,
Echoes roll unanswered.
Empty, open, dusty, dead.
Why have all the Weyrfolk fled?

Where have dragons gone together
Leaving weyrs to wind and weather,
Setting herdbeasts free of tether;
Gone, our safeguards, gone, but whither?

Have they flown to some new weyr
Where cruel Threads some others fear?
Are they worlds away from here?
Why, oh why the empty weyr?

-- "The Question Song", Anne McCaffrey
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