Woke up around 5 AM.
I had been dreaming. I was either finishing up or had just finished getting a masters degree of some sort, possibly at OSU. The recall's sketchy, but I had to find a place to live, and I somehow wandered into a Very Large Victorian house owned by Pat Kight (not her real house). Images that I can recall are falling asleep in a very large and poofy king sized bed, being sat upon by multiple cats (ours does not sleep with us), wandering into the kitchen where Pat and two other women were making some fabulous breakfast, and me apologizing for shedding very long John Hairs in a space of three minutes' conversation.
The house was mostly dark, with black wooden paneled halls. The room I slept in I thought was on the second floor at first, but later in the kitchen, I realized it was on a kind of glassed in mezzanine entrance (sort of like the old entrance to the Reed College Library, c 1990). The kitchen was the brightest part of the house.
When I woke up (for real) the following phrase was in my head:
Horses stumble. Houses fall.