A Dream Is But A Life

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?

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.

Dreamscape

Sometimes life just seems more fun and interesting on "the other side".  When I close my eyes at night, I'm whisked away to a distant, yet sometimes familiar place, where I'm everything I ever hoped I'd be and am accepted by all as an equal or better.  Unlike my waking hours when it seems like all I am is a number.  Something, not someone, to be used and abused for all I'm worth, then discarded like a piece of trash or a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of their shoe.

I'm not crying up a storm, here, sobbing "woe is me".  I'm satisfied, somewhat, for my lot in life.  I find my job fulfilling, though unappreciated most days.  It's just everything else that I wish I could have different.

When I dream at night, it seems like all my hopes have come true.  I'm popular with the ladies, even sought after on occasion.  Hell, I'm popular with everyone.  My opinions and ideas matter.  It's freakin' awesome.  Sometimes I think, if I didn't have so many responsibilities here, it'd be nice to slip into a coma.  Life seems more fulfilling and interesting "over there" anyway, and adventurous.

I remember a dream I had a few years ago, where I was white water rafting with the WWE's Undertaker (whom I was referring to by his real name, Mark Callaway), Stephanie McMahon, and Triple H (Paul Levesque).  We'd stopped for lunch at a small cafe along the river, and when I went to use the restroom, I was jumped by three hoodlums who wanted my ball cap. (I guess not all is perfect in this world...)  Mark, or I mean, Undertaker was quick to help a buddy out and stomped their asses into the ground.  Yahoo!

My dreamscape is a wondrous place.  It sort of resembles Heaven in the movie "What Dreams May Come", a far and spacious place, uncluttered by modern amenities, yet there are pockets of familiarities.  City streets that somehow exist but don't clash with the beauty of the landscape.  They're invisible until you look around and see you're surrounded.

Last night, for some reason, I dreamed about work, but it wasn't my workplace that I recognized.  It was completely different, yet my co-workers were all there.  I was working along side one of the blokes I worked with this week, and instead of treating me like a useless f*ck as he was doing yesterday, he treated me as a equal even requesting my opinion on a pending project.  My ideal scenario, wouldn't be to dream of work for the rest of my existence, but there's worse things to be dreaming about.

For instance, there's a recurring dream I have from time to time, where I'm stuck in this house or building.  The structure itself changes ever once in awhile, but the premise remains.  I can run, walk, whatever, there's no getting out.  No matter the route I choose, different every time, there's no escape and I end up back where I began.  Of all my dreams, this one, I fear, is the closest to my real life.

Not to mention the nightmares that I have sometimes.  I'm fast asleep, but an uneasy feeling wakes me up.  I look up and see a small girl clad in a white dress, standing in the doorway of my bedroom.  She's motionless, quietly staring at me as I sleep.  My cat is usually nowhere to be found, which is understandable, as I don't really want to be there either.  I don't do anything and I say nothing.  I close my eyes again and go back to sleep.  Now I'm fairly certain this is a dream and not an actual occurrence.  As far as I know, there's never been a small child who resided in this house.  Plus, I've had this dream on a number of occasions at a number of my residences.

I guess I just view these dreams as a form of escape.  When life gets me too down, here, I can close my eyes and escape to someplace wonderful.  I did the same as a kid, too.  My childhood was not that easy.  Growing up in an alcoholic home, life is rarely easy.  I didn't have it as bad as some kids, but I felt the brunt of a lot of hate and mistreatment.  I guess that's why I fell in love with the cinema, as a young kid.  I saw it as a way to escape from my day-to-day life, and be somewhere or someone else.  I guess that's why as an adult, I continue the practice, watching way too much television and viewing a f*ck-of-a-lot of movies.  At last count, I can't remember how many movies I have in my collection.

That being said, I can see on the wall that I need to get some shit done and bills to pay.  After all is said and done...; Life is but a dream.., sweetheart.

Life Is A Fickle Bitch

I am reminded of the life of Dar Robinson. He was a stuntman whose career spanned from the early 1970's in films like "Papillion" and "The Towering Inferno", well into the 1980's where he'd perform stunts in movies like "Turk 182" and "Sharky's Machine" which starred his friend, Burt Reynolds. So imagine everyone's shock when after a day of shooting dangerous stunts on the set of "Lethal Weapon", the man who once leaped from the dizzying heights of Toronto, Ontario's CN Tower, died in a motorcycle accident. After decades of facing death head on, it was a traffic accident that ended the life of this daredevil.

I am often reminded by that irony, in many facets of life. Like the late-pro wrestler Chris Candido, who managed to survive years of addiction only to succumb to a blood clot after he'd cleaned his life up. Life is a fickle bitch.

Or even more so, the life of Ryan Dunn, which was tragically ended in the twilight hours of this morning. If you were to read his bio, it's a veritable list of do's and don't's for those wishing to avoid bodily harm. The young man who came to fame with his insane stunts and questionable antics through videos made with his chum, Brandon "Bam" Margera, on the Jackass television show and movies, and later on Bam's "Viva La Bam" television program. Probably Dunn's biggest debatable act, was his decision to drive home (allegedly) drunk after visiting a local drinking establishment in West Goshin Township in Pennsylvania.

I am in no way condoning the practice of driving while intoxicated, although, admittedly, I am guilty of doing that same act once myself. It was a very long time ago, and the experience (what I can recall of it, which wasn't very much) was frightening and I've never set foot behind the wheel while intoxicated again. However, to drive my point across, it is somewhat ironic that while Ryan Dunn had throughout his career, performed many stunts that even an insane lunatic would think twice about doing, it was one of life unpredicted occurrences that would take this young man's life.

Two young men. Each in their own right, faced danger and survived, only to be taken way before their time. Each was loved and respected by their peers and their fans. And each will be sorrily missed in the decades to come. Rest In Peace, boys!