That wasn't the new heart I was looking for

The good news is that I slept deeply enough to dream last night. It was a weird one, a really long narrative compressed into what was probably a really short dream cycle. Some shadowy government agency was hunting me down for some reason unknown to me, all in breathless first person. Cut. The agents finally cornered me in a dark alley (of course), hit me with a tranquilizer gun, and dragged me in for interrogation. Cut. Several days later, it's gone third-person on me, and I'm watching my family receive and deal with the news of my death from clean-cut men in dark suits. Cut. Back to first-person, several weeks later, and I'm at my front door being welcomed back with tears and hysterics. I came to learn that I died during interrogation, but the men in black gave me a "new" heart that was leaky and defective in all kinds of ways and let me go. And so began the hunt for my original heart, just in time for my alarm to go off.

My takeaway from the dream: don't count on the government or any other human agency to give you a new heart. It's guaranteed to be defective.

Who knows, though, maybe I could figure out how to work the whole crazy thing into the plot of a story.