A few nights back I dreamed that Star Trek: The Next Generation was back on the air. Season eight picked up where the series left off, as if the films had never happened - by and large, a wise creative choice, continuity notwithstanding. Strangely, the renewal aired without any advertising or fanfare at all, and in Edmonton the show starts at 1 in the morning. So I faithfully watched, and to my delight, it was excellent; it was like every episode was as at least as good as original classics like "The Inner Light" or "The Best of Both Worlds," some even as good as modern-day Battlestar Galactica. The production design had improved significantly, too, and the actors hadn't aged at all.
I was disappointed when I woke up, as is usual with dreams of simple comforts. Perhaps the stress of middle adulthood brought me back to my late teens and early twenties, when I had fewer responsibilities and it was easier to escape to new worlds and new civilizations.