In the past I've had dreams that felt real and sometimes waking up from them was a real disappointment. Not that I was really unhappy with my life, but the dream life was really really great!
Some of the dreams I'd had, were quite adventurous. There were even some dreams where I was deeply involved in the pro wrestling world and waking up from that to face my humdrum life, was a complete let down.
My life isn't what I'd call adventurous, nor would I say it's super-fantastic, but I am quite content in the little world that exists today. I have a nice home, a pretty sweet job, and a beautiful little boy (aka. my cat, Monkey). That being said, I still have, on a rare occasion, those realistic dreams, so real in my mind that it takes a few moments when I awaken, to realize that it was just a dream. Last night / this morning, was just one of those occasions.
I'd gotten to bed really really really late. I'd been slumbering on my sofa, as I often do after a long hard day's work. My back was bothering me all day long, so once my ass hit the couch, it didn't take very long for my eyes to close. So roughly around 4 or 5 am, I moved myself from downstairs to my comfy bed, where I quickly resumed a restful sleep. It was about this time that I began dreaming the real dream.
In part, I think what makes these dreams seem so real to my subconscious, is the fact that the passage of time feels like the actual passage of time. One minute equals one minute. Even if I'm only asleep for a couple of hours, as in the case of this morning, shutting my eyes at around 5 am and waking up again at 8 am on the nose. The time inside my dream felt like about a day and a half, or so.
In my dream, I recall living where I live. Driving what I drive. Working where I work. Everything was exactly the same, except for the fact that I was also attending school. It wasn't a tech college or university, but it was a grade school. In some kind of "Billy Madison*" universe, all 6 feet of me, was going to school with children. Either that or I was teaching. That part of my dream wasn't very clear.
The ground was snow covered, which these days isn't a surprise (late spring), and I'd left the school for the day. I was half way home, when I realized that I'd left something back at school, so turned to go back. The school was located right downtown, which for anyone familiar with Saskatoon, knows that there's no public schools downtown, especially one that would allow a grown adult to attend. But the Saskatoon, in my dream was far different from the Saskatoon that is our harsh reality. Perhaps, like the premise of my education, the city's location was different too, despite my living in my same house and driving my same vehicle.
As I neared the school, I had one more turn to make. A right turn which I, uncharacteristically, cut too sharply, catching a snow drift piled at the street corner, causing my beautiful Honda Ridgeline to rollover onto it's side. I experienced the rollover from a first-person perspective and like in life, it seemed to pass in slow motion. I recall the truck tipping. I remember the shocked looks on people's faces, standing across the street witnessing my accident. I could hear the metal twisting and the glass breaking. I could, and still can, feel the sharp pain running through my back as the vehicle came to rest on it's side. Feeling the cool breeze blow into the cabin of my truck, and being warmed by the blood trickling down my face. Every facet that could possibly exist in those few fleeting moments, I experienced in real time.
I remember hearing the sirens of the emergency vehicles and watching the flashing red lights as they drew closer and closer. Admittedly, I vaguely recall being admitted, checked over and stitched up; and released from the hospital. Instead of going home, I returned to the school. Whatever I'd left was very important, but I would forget what it was I sought, once I would arrive at the school. Forgoing whatever it was, I now needed a ride home, and received one from my only option, which was a van filled with homeless people. F*cking strange, huh?
In my dream, I recall living where I live. Driving what I drive. Working where I work. Everything was exactly the same, except for the fact that I was also attending school. It wasn't a tech college or university, but it was a grade school. In some kind of "Billy Madison*" universe, all 6 feet of me, was going to school with children. Either that or I was teaching. That part of my dream wasn't very clear.
The ground was snow covered, which these days isn't a surprise (late spring), and I'd left the school for the day. I was half way home, when I realized that I'd left something back at school, so turned to go back. The school was located right downtown, which for anyone familiar with Saskatoon, knows that there's no public schools downtown, especially one that would allow a grown adult to attend. But the Saskatoon, in my dream was far different from the Saskatoon that is our harsh reality. Perhaps, like the premise of my education, the city's location was different too, despite my living in my same house and driving my same vehicle.
As I neared the school, I had one more turn to make. A right turn which I, uncharacteristically, cut too sharply, catching a snow drift piled at the street corner, causing my beautiful Honda Ridgeline to rollover onto it's side. I experienced the rollover from a first-person perspective and like in life, it seemed to pass in slow motion. I recall the truck tipping. I remember the shocked looks on people's faces, standing across the street witnessing my accident. I could hear the metal twisting and the glass breaking. I could, and still can, feel the sharp pain running through my back as the vehicle came to rest on it's side. Feeling the cool breeze blow into the cabin of my truck, and being warmed by the blood trickling down my face. Every facet that could possibly exist in those few fleeting moments, I experienced in real time.
I remember hearing the sirens of the emergency vehicles and watching the flashing red lights as they drew closer and closer. Admittedly, I vaguely recall being admitted, checked over and stitched up; and released from the hospital. Instead of going home, I returned to the school. Whatever I'd left was very important, but I would forget what it was I sought, once I would arrive at the school. Forgoing whatever it was, I now needed a ride home, and received one from my only option, which was a van filled with homeless people. F*cking strange, huh?
Instead of taking me home for some much needed bed rest, I was instead escorted to a subterranean terminal of sorts, where I bumped into friends, friends-of-friends, and my brother-in-law, Bryan, who subsequently gave me a ride, but not to my home, but instead to his house, clear across this strange thriving metropolis that did not resemble Saskatoon, my home, in the least. I grew more and more frustrated with not being allowed to go home and it was around this time that I woke up.
During the time it took for the cobwebs to clear in my foggy mind, I seriously thought about the toll it would take on me at the expense that replacing my truck. The truck is five years old, and as in real life, it had less than fifty thousand kilometers on the odometer at the time of the rollover. Insurance should give me a fair price on it, but it would still pale in comparison to the selling price of a 2013 model. I was more than relieved when I looked around and realized that I was back in my real life.
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