Librarian

The li­brary is a nat­ur­al re­source. And I re­al­ly en­joy that pun. I had a dream that I was in a li­brary, and specif­i­cal­ly in a com­put­er room in a li­brary with a bunch of ruckus friends. This com­put­er room was from an Irish movie I saw years ago, and I re­mem­ber a char­ac­ter watch­ing Frank Patterson[?] sing at the pa­pal vis­it to Ireland on the com­put­er. Maybe that didn’t ac­tu­al­ly hap­pen in the movie and I dreamed it, and re­mem­bered dream­ing it in this dream. [Update: When Brendan Met Trudy, thanks TS!] So this room was not re­al to me, but re­al to my ex­pe­ri­ence. In any case we were be­ing loud and an old mean li­brar­i­an came in and start­ed copy­ing our iden­ti­fi­ca­tion in or­der to re­port us to the Department of Homeland Security. I grabbed what she was copy­ing of me and dis­cov­ered it was a copy of my so­cial se­cu­ri­ty card. I re­fused to give it back to her, say­ing I didn’t want her to have my so­cial se­cu­ri­ty num­ber, and she said she’d have me ar­rest­ed and no one would ever hear from me again. I think I called her a di­nosaur and said I hoped she got re­placed by an up­grad­ed li­brar­i­an with pierc­ings and tatts. Then I woke up be­cause my pil­low had fall­en off the bed. I man­aged to grab it be­fore it land­ed on the floor, al­though I felt very strange be­cause my mind was still most­ly asleep and my body was wide awake thrum­ming.