Pay it no mind, it's just a song.

One minute, I'm dreaming of doing the things I usually do--read, write, cook, watch movies... when an old friend/crush from Akron--"Circe," we'll call her--shows up at the door, in the midst of one of her famed "chaos road trips." We get decidedly intimate and I understandably opt to join her. Stopping at her parents' house, I discover that she's Circe's evil twin, who fights the real one and loses. I then proceed with the real Circe, only to find our bliss short-lived. Surviving a hair-raising chase down a freeway where a truck ferrying tuna salad has skidded and crashed in the midst of a driving rainstorm (rendering the freeway a raging torrent of rainwater, rusted aluminum, and tuna salad), in which I have to get out in the water and lead Circe and the car to safety (like Humphrey Bogart in The African Queen), we come to my own "house" (which I'd never seen before) where a different extended Irish-American family to the one I actually have is carrying on a wake/get-together. Circe bids me a tearful farewell, explaining that she's gotten a scholarship to study in Dublin. My pain fails to deflate even on discovering that my house is now a ski resort. Yielding to my "relatives" (who include an annoyingly bufferish old Anglo-Irish "Ascendancy" squire who probably resembles influential early twentieth century fantasist Lord Dunsany), I agree to go sledding only to find an ominous rumble start up once we get to the top of the hill. Fortunately, it didn't sound too bad, so I had the presence of mind to shout "quasi-avalanche!" just before I woke up. Thank heavens for that.