New night, new dream. It's been a big week for dreams. Almost as big a week as Earthquakes are having.

It's morning and I'm getting dressed. All my clothes are in a pile. Not a messy pile but a symmetrical pile bordering on pillar. The floor is all mirrors and as I'm filing through my clothes I notice that every tooth I've had to have replaced (for one reason, or another) is now the color of clam shells, a black that fades into gray. Three teeth, two on the top, one on the bottom. I grabbed each of them between my index finger and thumb, and rubbed them like you rub dirt off a quarter. Still black. I began to both worry about my future with black teeth and become really angry at what I assumed had done this to me...coffee. My hands and knees were smudging up the mirror. The smudges asked why I as missing teeth. I embarrassingly told the smudges (who's voices sounded like my nephews) that it wasn't that I was missing teeth, but that I had teeth that had turned black, and I invited them to reach into my mouth and feel each tooth as proof.

And that's all the further that one got.