Here's a few other things: a) it was autumn, the years most contemplative season, b) I totally had a long gray beard that I would stroke as I sipped bourbon and read difficult philosophical passages, c) I was every bit of 50 years old but the young co-ed's still somehow considered me to be very, very sexy.
So this was all pretty cool and I was probably about to put the moves on a cute little undergrad, which might have taken the dream in a whole new (read: better) direction, when I started receiving memos via email explaining that I had been put in charge of the forthcoming rapture.
That's right, the rapture...like apocalypse.
Imagine that.
So I spend the rest of this dream, which had to amount to weeks and weeks in dream-time, trying to convince anybody who will listen that I most certainly did not want this job. After all I had no rapture experience and was destined to do important things out of order if not all together incorrectly. Also I felt that my tendency to procrastinate would be a problem.
I might note that I never felt stressed about the responsibility. All I felt was annoyance. As thought the extra work was going to cut into my tv time too much.
Unfortunately nobody would listen to me so the rapture came and went as I'd been told that it would and there I was, the last remaining person on earth, standing upon a gigantic pile of rubble that used to be my city, looking down with little to no emotion on the carnage burning below me.
It was then that I noticed a seagull soaring in and out of the rising smoke plumes above me, disappearing and reappearing again like the moon behind fast moving clouds. And with full knowlege that these would be the last words I would ever utter I yelled, "I really don't need this kind of responsibility right now," but it didn't hear me or at least it pretended not to.
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