Talking mice?

I had a full-fledged comic book ripoff dream last night. In the dream I was a talking mouse. By whatever means (I remember more towards the end of the dream), I had been changed into a talking mouse, and by exposure to a failed MiracleGro experiment, I had grown to thirty feet tall. I had made myself useful around Washington, D.C. by helping construction crews to lift heavy things, but one day, George W. Bush gave orders that, since he thought I was a French mouse, I must be destroyed. So all of a sudden, tanks are shooting at me. So I dove into the Potomac, where I found a secret underwater door. When I opened it, I partially blacked out, but all of a sudden I was talking to a Jedi who was part of the insurrection against the Galactic Empire. She told me that the others wanted to execute me as an imperial spy, but she decided that I couldn't have been because I had a French accent. Then the alarm went off.

I finished both Evangelium Vitae and Paradise Lost in the last couple days, and now I'm looking for a new project. Oh, yeah... I probably need to study some more for Saturday's English subject area GRE. With Mary unsure whether she wants to keep working after Micah's born, I'm not sure how much of myself I can sink into this test--even if I make it into a program, there's no guarantee that I'll be accepting the invite. But I can't blow it off either, because she's still unsure whether she wants to work or to stay home. Oy. To be continued...