I had a weird-ass dream last night. Before I hear the sound of a thousand bookmarks disappearing from browsers across the world, don’t worry- even though I have written about my cat, and this is a dream-related posting, I’m not turning into a 16-year-old girl.

So keep reading. Also, shitcakes. (16-year-old girls don’t say shitcakes, right?)

So, for some reason or another, I think it was at my parents’ behest, I moved to the Moon. Because apparently they have resort style condos there. Regardless of the fantastic view of the Earth from space and the posh furnishings, I continued to mill about and grumble about things, and of all things to stick out in my mind, it took me about three days to write a 3/2 post along the lines of “Uh, yeah. I live on the moon now, apparently.”

I have very mundane dreams, and apparently even my subconscious is starting to get blase about it. Normally I just dream about games or books I thought about buying but passed on, then spend the next morning wondering what I did with the nonexistent object. (the worst bout was with an imagined copy of “Emiko’s Genesis Vol. 1”, since that comic never got past the theoretic stages in spite of a polished full website dedicated to it. And you thought Dresden Codak was bad.)