Last night I dreamed that I'd been appointed Prime Minister. But I was only 19 or 20 years old, and I didn't understand any of the day-to-day procedures of the office, including where to sit in Parliament. I waved down a helicopter at the wrong time and felt foolish, and went on a tour of the official residence with a bunch of teenagers. Anne McLellan was constantly shepherding me, but she wasn't getting frustrated, thank goodness.
But before that, I dreamed that I was in a metropolis. I leapt into the air, and landed atop a skyscraper. I had no way to get down. It was an angled roof, and I had to hang on to a protruding slap of roofing material to keep myself from sliding off.
I thought of jumping off and using a parachute to slow my fall, but I was too scared to make the attempt. Then I started to think about the nature of fear, and I was gearing myself up to make the jump when a window on the roof opened and a blonde-haired accountant helped me into the building.
I used the stairs to reach ground level.