Before we went to sleep last night, my beloved wished me nice dreams. “Dream that we are going to the moon,” she whispered. But the only dream I remember is of a huge cockroach I was chasing around an old and derelict kitchen. The size of my hand, the bug was very fast, too. I dreamt that I managed to catch it at some point. Holding a rag of some kind, I pressed it hard against the floor, but its shiny, round head came off. Using its tentacles, it managed to scurry away. It went under an old icebox surrounded by boxes filled with old cutlery and piles of dusty trays. Whatever I lifted to catch the head, it dashed under something else. I kept moving the boxes away and tilting the ice box, but the sneaky head was always quicker than I was. I woke up pretty despondent about my unsuccessful chase. “What did you dream?” my beloved asked as soon as I opened my eyes. When I told her, she laughed: “Didn’t I tell you to dream of us going to the moon?!”