Poop Shute

I had an interesting thought last night that was inspired by something I read in Blue Mars by Kim Stanley Robinson.

Science as an infinite hydra. As we solve each problem or answer each question it opens up a new headful of problems/questions. The distance between man and the total of all knowledge possible seems to be ever approaching zero by halving the distance. Closer and closer but infinitely out of reach.

Bedtime musings again.

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Just now before my alarm went off I was having a very bizarre dream. Even for me, the guy who never has normal dreams.

I was playing volleyball without a net on Brian's driveway. The game was two-on-two; David Dobell and Dennis Leary versus myself and Steve Buscemi. Brian was there sort of as an alternate, meaning he would jump in and take someone's place for a new game when this one was over. I remember we were just killing time, waiting to leave on a field trip. Also, the garage was open and the car inside was a gold, late 1980's, Oldsmobile station wagon, the car I spent most of my childhood in. It was cold outside, too cold to be Arizona because we were all bundled up in heavy coats and wool hats and gloves. I had a backpack on.

Any amateur dream interpreters out there? Have at it. I can't wait to hear this.