I swear on a stack of pancakes that every word of this story is true:

Except when I'm running a fever, I almost never remember my dreams. I can count on one hand the non-fevered dreams I've remembered over the last six or seven years. For the last 24 hours or so, I've been battling a nasty stomach bug that included a low-grade fever as a lovely bonus. It started last night right after I went to bed.

During the night, I only slept about 30 minutes total; it was during one of these brief respites from gastric fury that I had the first dream I've remembered in the last couple of years.

It was about KnoxViews.

Yes, I dreamed about a blog. Read about my irredeemable dorkiness (and perhaps psychic ability) after the jump.

In the dream, I was reading KnoxViews, when several new posts began to appear. They were incoherent strings of random words and symbols, making no sense whatsoever. Random text began floating across the page, totally screwing up the layout. The dream me thought, "SKB is gonna be pissed about this."

Eventually, the chaos subsided, and it became clear that the random text and garbled content were the work of one person. He was able to eventually create a few semi-coherent posts, all of which consisted of rambling, vituperative screeds about the corruption of County Commission. At first, I thought he was posting about Knox County, but then I realized he was talking about Fulton County Commission. The dream me thought, "Wait a damn minute -- there is no Fulton County in Tennessee." Someone posted a comment to this effect, asking him if he meant Fulton County, Georgia. The poster became enraged, defensive, and hostile at the suggestion that he might not know what the hell he was talking about, even though he clearly didn't. To defend his indefensible position, he even posted a map of Tennessee with the alleged Fulton County highlighted in blue. His drawing was pointing to Rhea County.

As time wore on, everyone became frustrated in their attempts to set straight someone who was mercifully free from the ravages of critical thought. I merely watched the exchange, not wanting to waste my time trying to convince the unconvincible of the loopiness of his positions.

At that moment, I woke up and felt the sudden urge to vomit.

Like Coleridge, I was never able to regain the dream (mainly because I didn't sleep more than another 15 minutes or so). Unlike Coleridge, I was grateful for that loss.

Prophecy? You decide.