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Buggy-Buggy-Buggy-Bug
I dreamed I was working with my old boss, but now we weren't priests but government assassins. There were some enemies of the state living in an apartment a couple of floors above the one we were thinking of renting and we had a plan to take them out using a stick of dynamite disguised as a pencil. Unfortunately they heard us plotting and adopted a menacing tone- so we leaped into action and garroted them instead. This was a little unpleasant- and as we quit their apartment- having left the dynamite in place to wipe out the evidence- my boss said he no longer fancied moving in downstairs because the place now held "memories". He was still a bit wired and when a hapless passer-by got in his way, collared him and, pretending to be a health inspector, covered his hair in flea powder, going "Buggy-buggy-buggy-bug!"
Shortly afterwards (this is now on the earthly plane, not the astral) my mother fell out of bed- as she does every once in a while. She was as cheerful as ever- but had somehow managed to get her left leg threaded through the arm of her bedside commode. We disentangled her, but it was an hour or so before I got back to sleep. This having being the night the clocks went back I stayed in bed until what would have been 8.30 British Summer Time but was only 7.30 by today's reckoning.
Shortly afterwards (this is now on the earthly plane, not the astral) my mother fell out of bed- as she does every once in a while. She was as cheerful as ever- but had somehow managed to get her left leg threaded through the arm of her bedside commode. We disentangled her, but it was an hour or so before I got back to sleep. This having being the night the clocks went back I stayed in bed until what would have been 8.30 British Summer Time but was only 7.30 by today's reckoning.