My mother-in-law went to school in the Himalayas. It's one of the few memories she retains, so maybe that's where I got it. I show her pictures on the cell phone of her school, still in operation, and she recognizes it, calls her old school by name.

Anyway, in my dream, I'm in a place that calls itself by the name of my old alma mater, but it is situated in the Himalayas. As I tour, I see that students and faculty have the ability to correct miscoloured parts of buildings. Ceiling panels inexplicably chartreuse become rose by mere thought of an observant campus-dweller. Wayward-hued bricks are made to conform. I wonder if the ability represents a measurable and testable example of psychic or paranormal phenomena.

Then I head down the valley to my appointment at the doctor. I encounter GT there. I worked many years with GT, After a rough start, we got along famously. He's retired now. He appears slightly inebriated-- as he was (pacemaker notwithstanding) the last time I saw him. We discuss the colour-changing ability, which we have both noticed. A third sits in the room, at first unrecognized. Then it dawns, or dusks. He's Donald Trump, soon to be the Forty-Fifth President of the United States. I express surprise that the Kumquat-elect would have to wait in a regular waiting room for a doctor. GT and I discuss this fact with him. He admits he's not a real billionaire, and that's probably why he's there, but the dream-fa├žade cannot hold, and I wake up, head reeling with absurdities.