My dream last night wasn't so weird, but it's unusual that I remember them. I probably wouldn't mention it except that everyone else seems to be doing that today.
Anyway, I was Paul Krugman's roommate. I couldn't quite figure out what house it was, but it seemed perfectly natural to be sharing a house with him. My brother arrived and we started setting up a model rocket launch, but indoors, and using the stairs to the basement as a launching pad (how this was supposed to work was entirely neglected). The rocket didn't have the usual igniter or even a firework-style fuse, but a small switch to flip at the base. We didn't want to be near that, so I was rigging up a string that went from the switch, over a couple of rafters, and up to the door of the stairs where we would stand. But it kept not working, and I asked Mr. Krugman how much of our investment in rocket fuel we were losing to inflation.