Last night my dreams were a jumble of driving and harried activities. I recall driving from place to place in my car with Kristi, forgetting things, being late, late, late everywhere. It was kind of stressful, or perhaps more just hurried.

Andrew and Aimee are two church friends that are preparing to move to Uganda as missionaries. At one point, we stopped by their place to bring them some dinner. For some reason, there were in a drab, old-folks-home-like place. They were inside, seated on a red couch. I had a big crock pot of some kind of stew. I prepared to give it to them, which was the whole point of our visit. As I went to do so, I stopped short and quickly turned around.

I see myself pouring the stew into another container - keeping some for myself. I start… picking out the meaty bits of fish and steak (?) of the stew, and plopping them in my bowl. I turn around and I guess I gave the leftovers to them; the rest is a bit hazy.

Apparently I’m pretty selfish, or so my unconcious thinks.

“The virtuous man is content to dream what a wicked man really does.” — Plato, The Republic IX

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