Last night was a weird one. I dreamed of a funeral. I was standing talking to my long-deceased cousin Jack. The conversation was casual and inconsequential, I don't even remember it. Oddly, I do remember that he smelled awful. While we talked, people gathered. It became obvious that we were blocking the way. When we moved, they queued past winding between many tall standing multi-candle candelabra. While they did this, someone knocked one over, toppling the rest and setting the whole room on fire. I rushed toward the casket, which was beginning to burn, and tried to push it out of the room. The man in the casket had greying, salt & pepper hair and a moustache of the same color. It was one of those "regulation" or "military issue" moustaches you see on cops. I didn't recognize him. He didn't look terribly old, though, maybe sixty. The harder I pushed on the casket, the slower it moved. It was on a table, or a bier I suppose. It was as though the wheels were bound or braked or something. That's pretty much where things end.
Otherwise, the day is just generally another day. I spent about oh, eight or twelve, hours in the shower this morning falling asleep and waking up again wondering why I was wet. I guess I just wasn't ready to get out of bed, but when it happens it happens, y'know? My morning shower is typically uneventful, but my razor clogged incessantly and I actually changed blades twice. Mostly I just shave my face, but on days when I need to shave my head as well, a shower can be, well, more eventful.