I dreamed I was dressed like a nun. Wearing some half-cocked white-cloth headgear, hair sticking out every whichway. My kids were young and I was dropping them off at an activity and then going to see what was happening down the hall at my old school.

The real nun at the top of the stairs looked at me dubiously. She asked me a few questions as though to see if my quest were legit, but they were only to confirm what she already knew: I didn’t belong roaming around the cloister.

I gazed wistfully at a couple of the other nuns talking and doing paper work past her, but I was barred.

So I took off in my little car, chose not to take an off-road shortcut, but tried to time it so I wouldn’t be stuck at the red light for long, waiting to turn west on 38th.