Let us see how much I can coherently type in three minutes.

I had a crazy dream last night. I was going out to walk around campus, so I decided to put on my road warrior uniform, this kind of football gear top all black with a police riot helmet. Anyway, I'm walking around, come to the pedestrian walkway, and there are people dressed up in relative theme with me. They're there for this post-apocalyptic/medieval festival, and so I join them in helping get the food prepared. There's this one person who's chopping vegetables. So I get a cucumber and start skinning it with this peeler. It's not going very well. Suddenly, I look down and the little shredded places where light green peek through, they're turning dark... and fuzzy! Then an emerald green cat leaps from my lap where I was about to cut it again.

Yes. That's pretty much it.

I'm having to read a lot by Thursday. The reason why I'm typing as fast as I can is because I have laundry to get out... actually, right about now, and three minutes was not enough time to start something else.

(I was just reading some stuff by Christine de Pizan. She was an Italian-born immigrant to France, because her father became a counselor to the French King at the time. The Hundred-Year War was going on though, and Christine de Pizan was there just in time to have it turn bad for the French... while her husband and father both died in short time. So she turned to writing for money, an act nearly unthinkable at the time even for men. (If they wrote, they were at a university, were a monk, or were rich enough anyhow... this is pre-printing press.)

Laundry!