It’s one of those dreams that start in a sparsely attended, gaudy old movie theater. And then suddenly there’s a snake the size of a freight train, and everyone scatters, and it’s chasing you out toward the swimming pool. Then the swimming pool’s gone and you’re running down a gravel road and you look behind you. And it’s still there, only it’s not slithering so much as doing this horrible leaping thing like a rope being whipped about.

Then you’re in a tunnel. You’re in a tunnel, and you think you’ve lost the giant snake. And you’re relieved, momentarily. Until Zombie Shakespeare and his team of Zombie Actors stumble out of the dark, spouting iambic pentameter and coming right for you. You turn to run, and there at the other end of the tunnel? The giant snake. Loping again. Of course.

Then, blissfully, you wake up. You tell your husband, “I had a terrible dream about a giant snake and Zombie Shakespeare.” And he looks at you like you’re off your rocker.

And you wonder if maybe he’s on to something, there.