Last night’s dream was a doozy. I went on a road trip to Chicago with some co-workers. When we arrived, it was sleeting, yet we went to Wrigley Field to play baseball against a faceless team whom I think were the real Cubs because we beat them terribly. Then we traveled via an open cattle car to an apartment on the south side to pack up a co-worker’s dead mother’s belongings. I forced myself to wake up when Fiona Goode arrived. If you can tell me what this means, well, you know more about dream interpretation than I will ever pretend to know.