Like a Phantasma.

Last night I had a dream that my sister and I had taken a ferry to the Cape (oddball thing number one) and gone to do a presentation at our old elementary school. We were in the classroom of my first grade teacher (oddball thing number two; Mrs. Caswell was ancient when I knew her, there's no way that she's still around) and my sister was going to play her cello for the class. She was, however, reluctant to do so (oddball thing number three) but with a little goading she agreed. So she goes to start tuning the cello and her hand begins spurting blood; it turned out that she had cut off her finger while mowing her lawn (oddball thing number four; she rents and doesn't have a lawn to mow) and didn't want to tell anybody, so she reattached it herself. Then we were headed back to the ferries (there were two; after all, it's busy on the Cape) and everybody was saying that you didn't want to get on the first ferry because the Captain had sunk a boat just the week before and it was really dangerous to sail with him. As we're all waiting around for the second departure these people come running down the gangway screaming that there are people with guns on their helmets (I don't know) and there was a stampede. Then I woke up.

All of that makes more sense than losing to the White Sox.