sometimes waking up is disappointing.

I dreamt last night that I met the pope, who happened to be a forty/fifty-something-year-old Asian dude who looked like the guy in Inception... I was there to steal something from him. But he saw that my hands hurt (apparently they did, in my dream), and asked if he could heal them for me. So he pulled on my hands, leaning back with all his weight. My knuckles cracked and then smoke streamed out of my nails. The pope's face turned dark and crazy, and I felt the pain leave through the tips of my fingers.

Many other things happened in that dream, including me fighting off a group of ruggedly handsome ninjas and then kissing the only one who had a bit of a baby face and then getting chased by a giant black bull with a hump on his back and huuuuge horns and then 'tasting' food in the grocery store because we didn't have anything because of the apocalyptic weather that had destroyed everything we had.

It ended in Italy, where I've never been, walking down a tree lined road, enjoying the late afternoon sun.

It all, of course, made complete exhilarating sense until I woke up.