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And I keep wanting to make a proper post about it, but since that keeps not happening, I give you instead an exchange my mother and I had today while we were trading weird stories our brains tell us while we're asleep.

enemyofperfect: So then the giant skeleton king screamed and kind of fell on top of us--
Ma: That does sound like a creepy dream.
enemyofperfect: Oh, no -- this isn't the dream that upset me. The one that upset me was about the ethics of dealing with bandits in a post-apocalyptic society.
Ma: ...?
enemyofperfect: I mean, a blogger I respect said that we had to have a zero tolerance policy for bandits, because if they had any chance of reintegrating with society, people would be way more likely to give it a try. But I felt really uncomfortable with that idea! Like, if bandits have no options except banditry until they die, of course they're going to keep killing and stealing. And what if someone is actually born into banditry -- what do we do then? What option is there that lets us take a hard stance with bandit parents without forever traumatizing their kids? Or do we kill the kids too? There's no good solution here!
Ma: You know, some people just dream about having to give a presentation in their underwear.
enemyofperfect: ...I just realized something.
Ma: Is it that your name is Chidi?
enemyofperfect: I AM CHIDI ANAGONYE.

I'm trying not to be too ridiculously pleased with this realization, but let's be real -- how much better than an indecisive cinnamon roll of a dead ethics professor could I possibly do?

Some things I dreamed last night:

• Someone published a book that consisted of a lot of glossy photos of him and his dog cosplaying as Calvin and Hobbes and having adventures. It was pretty cool, actually.
• I had a really earnest conversation with a high-ranking religious official of some kind (I base this on his ornate hat and robes and his air of compassionate dignity) about the fact that I owned and sometimes used a razor. In hindsight, his doubts about this practice don't seem to mesh with his clean-shaven look. Maybe he used a depilatory? Anyway, I'm pretty sure we were on an airship. And maybe in the middle of a murder investigation.
• A guy was telling his female BFF that once they carried out their nefarious plan to wipe out the rest of humanity, they'd have to repopulate the earth, so he thought they should spare his girlfriend, too. And a dude of his BFF's choosing, if she wanted, he added magnanimously.

I've been told that I have weird dreams, but I don't get it. What on earth do the rest of you dream about?

(I will concede that the dream from the night before last about the con artist who felt marginally regretful about her plan to rip off Harold Finch and his new husband, Bucky Barnes, was a little out there.)

I dreamed that Google was giving out virtual ravens and flamingos to early adopters of some new service they'd developed.

I was outraged. You can't create artificial life and then just carelessly hand it out to anyone who can navigate a sign-up form! Inevitably, some of these fledgling AIs were going to end up being deliberately mistreated. That's how the internet works! And they didn't even care what fates their digital offspring might suffer -- they hadn't bothered putting in any safeguards at all.

This time, Google, you have gone too far, I thought.

It turns out there's pretty much nothing that's more adorable than a raven and a flamingo hanging out together and being BFFs, though. I mean, if we can believe my dream.