Kryskowski, the Writer, and Oscar Pistorius.

I had one of the oddest dreams I've had in a long time. It took place as three possibly unrelated vignettes.

An old instructor of mine was teaching an unruly class. Apparently, we were going to be dissecting things in a rather impossible manner, splitting them up into perfect metric cubes - practically dicing them mathematically.

I joked with her about my familiarity with the funding of the U.S. Public School System. That we'd never be able to dice things so perfectly because the scalpels would be so dull we'd have to saw. I remember students kept taking my seat. And eventually she scolded them. And then scolded me for browsing artwork she'd done using a remote. She joked that women always have control of the remote and that it was a breach in etiquette. I apologized. This vignette concluded with me holding my shirt and shoes and walking in the summer sun. I passed her house, which was large and had a plank sign in the front advertising her artwork which was apparently being bound into a story or comic soon.

Meanwhile, a man was sitting at a desk. He was writing, and apparently, he had details vital to affecting the outcome of a war. Many soldiers had gathered around him while he wrote, not looking up from his desk, until they practically filled the massive room he was in that only contained his desk and chair. They all drew firearms in synchronicity, and he looked up. He began to whirl through the lines of soldiers - nobody fired because they were afraid of killing each-other if they missed. One soldier came after him with a bat, at which point the writer turned, exasperated, and screamed "Sincerely? This is how we're going to do this? I've got enough on my plate!"

He explained that he'd been struggling with a dark pact made with some sort of genie or witch-like being. No sooner had he explained did the woman come out from a door. Her hair was so long and curly that it barely fit through the door-frame, and she walked a small dog. She quickly did away with the soldiers, taunting and domineering one that writhed on the floor.

Meanwhile, Oscar Pistorius was running through a Disney-Pixar attraction called Pic-torius, which was something of a McDonald's Play-Pen full of merchandise from successful Pixar films. He turned and began breaking into a full sprint in the direction he came, but the attraction rotated beneath him, making him stationary. He challenged it, running faster until I awoke.