Dreaming of Paul Krugman
I had this dream last night. There were more than a few plots and it involved my husband being taken away by "the military" only to return a few days later with two black eyes, a bandaged up face, a broken leg and missing teeth. But that's not the interesting part. Towards the end, a few of us were flying (I love flying dreams) through the night sky, trying to see who could go highest. We came across a huge mountain and glided down to a ledge where there was an enormous coffin partly covered with dirt. On the coffin was inscribed: Paul Krugman. Died 1812. I said to my flying companions: Whoa, Paul Krugman lived before! I wonder what he wrote about in 1812? At which point one of the other flyers tipped the coffin over and Mr. Krugman's corpse came tumbling out and proceeded to flip over the ledge, bounce down the mountain and land in a grassy field where it stood up, dusted itself off and proclaimed, You have not heard the last of me! I swear to you this is what I dreamed. Be damned if I know what it means.