The other day I dreamed that by holding these long strings in each hand, presumably connected to some sort of kite or parachute, I could be picked up by the wind and then fly around like I did skydiving a week ago. It was fantastic! I did big loops through the air, like I was on a giant swing, and twirled around with the ground spinning beneath me. I remember wondering out loud, before the skydiving adventure, whether it would be fodder for nightmares or good dreams. 'Turns out that, so far at least, it's definitely the latter!
Oh, except there was one more detail: I somehow got my apparatus wound around the front pillars of a big house where I think I was staying, and knew I was vaguely in trouble. I was summoned, with another person who had been flying, to the upper room of the house, where there were three unhappy older men, one of whom was Dick Cheney. There we were reprimanded for flying.