Skip to the cut-text if you don't want to be bored with my dream.

I dreamed that there was a war on, and I had just heard that a fighter pilot who had been shot down, a guy who I had a crush on, was not dead as I had thought. I dashed into this weird mad scientist lab, which had glowing multi-colored amoeba-like blobs traveling through a network of glass tubes. Apparently there was no infirmary, so wounded soldiers were given cots in the lab because that was where the doctors were.

The pilot was lying on a cot there. I flung myself on him, clutched at his arm, stroked his short blonde hair, and babbled about how glad I was that he was alive and recovering. He said, rather irritated, "Careful! The shrew-mice are escaping!"

It seemed that he had been there a while and was bored, so he had started taming the experimental shrew-mice and was keeping twenty of them under the covers. I spent the rest of the dream chasing them through the lab.

What struck me about the dream was the extraordinary vividness of the tactile sensations: the impossibly soft velvet of the hair at the nape of his neck and the smooth rippled skin beneath it, and the fluffy fur of the warm wriggling shrew-mice. In my dreams, touch is nearly always the most vivid sensation. Sight is next. Taste, sound, and kinesthetic feelings are dulled, and smell doesn't appear at all. In real life, all but smell are fairly important to me, though I am especially sentitive to touch and taste.

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