Last night I had a dream that I was taking a music theory course with Mr. Hartley and that it was the first day and he wanted us to, I thought that it was kind of near the end of the period and so I got up and I was starting to follow Elizabeth out the door and he's like, "Hey, where are you going?" And so we sat back down. He put this like practice thing up on the overhead, he gave us each a little notebook about the size of a, about four times the size of a matchbook, and it had little tiny shapes of staff paper in it. It was kind of like a measure note pad, and we were supposed to, except these little pieces of staff paper were like dated and titled and stuff, and we were supposed to keep our little practice things in it. And he was going to collect them, like writing a sharp on this line and putting this something-or-other on that space, and what does this mean, what does that mean and stuff like that. I don't remember too much about what it was. And I dreamt that instead of doing the practice, I was writing a story in this thing about someone being a very kind and gentle musician and nobody realizing it. And then I woke up. That was kind of dumb, huh?