As usual, I forget many, many details... but I had a rather long and involved dream last night that started out in mid-17th century England.

It seems I was a Royalist fighting in the Civil War, and apparently a highly trusted advisor, as I was in the presence of some supposed prince (though obviously not Charles Duke of York, as he should have been in the Netherlands), and being consulted on strategy along with others.

I remember a long 'running battle' scene, on horseback, though instead of guns everyone was using bows and swords. It was really more of a skirmish, as a party tried to ambush the Prince and I as we were heading to meet up with Royalist forces pushing an advantage in some near-coastal town. The Prince was hard to keep up with (and thus hard to provide cover for), and I was a little out of practice with horse archery at first, but I quickly found my stride and the Roundheads were despatched.

Upon reaching our destination, there was a question of how best to use a store of explosives. The tactical situation is rather unclear to me at this point, though strategically it was clear that if we beat the Roundheads, it would rather solidify the Royalist position and put us within striking distance of outright victory. I think there were two Cromwellian camps, one ensconced within a city's walls; this was the larger, and I advised sapping the city wall, sending the Roundheads into confusion with the resultant explosion and charging in to press the advantage (likely bolstered by enemy casualties). My position was accepted.

Now... this is where things suddenly get very strange...

It seems that, somehow, now we were on one of the Hawaiian islands -- and the fight now wasn't between Cavaliers and Roundheads but between Dutch and English, and I was fighting for the English. (This is quite opposite of expectation, as I'm a huge Bataviophile, to coin a term.) The explosives were somehow dependent on one of the Hawaiian volcanoes, and setting it off involved shooting an amp. WTPF?

Not only that, but when I was selected to shoot the amp, now I'm armed with a modern handgun, and in modern clothes... and the explosion does not take place.

At this point, I decide that as apparently I can't seem to fulfill history (the English were 'supposed' to win this battle), I might as well change it. I raise my gun into the air, fire another shot or two, and declare "I'm taking over."

Now, how it is that I'm the only person with a firearm is beyond me. But apparently that's the case. And now a bevy of former highschool teachers come walking in, asking what all the commotion is about; among them is the stern but excellent history teacher, Mr. Hanson. I answer, "We have a new President... and I am he."

Oh, did I mention I'm in a male role this whole time? c.c;

The teachers all start glaring at me disapprovingly, and try some odd social pressuring things, details of which I cannot remember at all... but basically in the same vein as parents trying to get a child to eat something the child doesn't think he or she likes.

I get into an argument with Mr. Hanson, as he declares "You're running a Stalinist dictatorship!" I respond by informing Mr. Hanson that indeed, a Stalinist dictatorship is far preferable to the failed capitalist system that had prevailed previously, in which the rich are only made richer and corporate influences far outweigh any individual's voting power.

I forget if there's any more to this very strange dream, but I soon woke. I'm very confused right now; where did all this come from? I'm normally quite a peaceable individual. About the only part that rings true to the Marion I know is my critique of America's corporate-based political system. I guess I'll be chewing on this one for a while...