Last night I had an interesting but odd dream. I was walking through the living room, my living room, but at the same time not mine, as happens often in dreams, and I stepped on something hard with my bare foot. I looked down and saw it was a gold ring, and soon I saw that there were rings scattered here and there, buried in the pile of the rug, some with precious gemstones, all beautiful, in different sizes. Some were playful renditions of odd looking cartoonish characters, perhaps from Sesame Street, like a child's toy ring, but in pure gold and gemstones, some were just lovely dainty gold jewelry, filigreed and with fanciful gold leaves and flowers. I gave them to various people, and still more turned up.
Maybe it is about poems. I have been thinking about writing a new series, though I am not sure I can pull it off, about a t.v. show, Medical Mysteries. I would have to strike a balance between interest in the interesting rare diseases for their own sake and for their orotund names and the suffering those people undergo.