I am at a funeral. I think it is Grandpa Lloyd's. The seats are like school desks in a row. I walk down the first row and see lots of my family there. I choose to sit in the back, in the third row over. My mother says, "Jake and Valerie have changed their names to John and ickivi. My mother seems concerned and she and I argue. She says, "Can't you see how they are so concerned about traffic?" I said, "Those are two different issues, Mom (I feel frustrated). The first one is about Identity, the second about confusion (or something). She dismissed my idea. I feel angry. A cute little automated machine comes in and bumps into things in its search for something to dust, because that's what it's been invented to do. It finds a picture frame and starts to wipe at it. At first all it does is move the dust around. I report this to someone. Then after a long time it actually makes it squeaky clean and dust free. I am impressed.