I am cooking in a woman's kitchen. One of my friends had volunteered to help this woman, but he backed out at the last minute, leaving me to pick up the slack. The woman is cooking for a large family, and she is an Iranian-born Muslim, so I'm unfamiliar with all of the recipes and some of the ingredients. Trying to help this woman is a complete nightmare; she's so bossy and she likes to emphasize all of the things I'm doing wrong, all of the problems I'm having. However, when we serve the finished meal to a table of twenty-five, I feel pride ... and relief.

I only remember snippets of my other dreams last night, but:
- I am hanging out with a crowd from my old high school, and we are walking in Madison. Even though I know the city better than anyone, no one will listen to me when I try to give them better directions.
- A huge storm is brewing off in the distance. The clouds are making gorgeous formations -- everything looks incredible. I want to take pictures of the sky, but no one with me has brought a camera.
- I think I reinvented one of my fellow high school graduates as an incredibly attractive man. We were flirting nicely with each other, hanging out. It was fun.