I like to imagine potatoes of all different preparation techniques, but mostly dirty, brown, boring, raw russets falling from the sky, and into the bowls, and gently bouncing onto the carpet, and then suddenly I realize that my bed is a warm baked potato, and I am but a cute little pad of butter nestled up against a cool li'l dollop of sour cream, ever so slowly, yet ever so surely, melting.. into a deep, delicious sleep.