Venice dreams

I do not understand dreams. I just woke up from one in which we lived in a noisy apartment at a huge 410 interchange in San Antonio. And in which we had bought tickets to go to Venice for a week in March, and (incomprehensibly, but that’s how dreams are, I guess) forgotten about them.

The only thing I can figure is that we’re supposed to help my parents move some furniture to San Antonio today, and I read Candy Calvert’s blog entry about crying during an unexpected second honeymoon in Venice.

Dreams are such strange things, aren’t they?