I had an interesting, exhausting dream in which a sinister performance artist pursued me around a primly manicured suburban yard for what seemed like hours, saying things to me, trying to grab hold of me. I knew what he wanted, he wanted me to be part of his next piece, in which a seemingly sane, balanced person (me) willingly submits to having his entire arm surgically removed for no medically necessary reason. As I darted behind trees and parked cars and eluded him in a darkly comical but tiring serpentine fashion, he kept verbally provoking me, trying to get under my skin, trying to make me lose my composure. I was dimly aware of the insidious way he was trying to perturb me psychologically, but I also knew that unless I could make a desperate dash and put some real distance between him and myself, it would probably ultimately work. Still, the rules of the dreamworld precluded me from leaving the yard, even though there was seemingly nothing preventing me from doing so. I knew my ability to fight was being slowly eroded, and the inevitability of my eventual submission enervated me. This went on interminably, I didn't know when it would end. Then I woke up and thought, well isn't life just like that!