Freaky

Yeah sure, I slept last night but, Maronna!, the dreams!

In the first one, I was trying to escape a city overrun by steroidal nude male zombies. They weren’t after my brains – oh my, no – they wanted to eat my flesh, a sweet deltoid or two and, mebbe, a stray trapezius or tricep. Lunch – still alive while munched – was their preference. Not my first choice, mind you.

There was much running and even more watching as these musclebound, preternaturally speedy, hairless studs chased and vanquished prey. Obvs these happy, hungry, oiled up boys were pro-bodybuilder walking dead types. YECH and //shudder//

Incredibly, I got back to sleep after my psyche woke me up with a rock solid WHAT THE EVER LIVIN’ FUCK!!!! In the next ‘the Hell?!, I was driving a beat to near death, more-Bondo-than-body, multi color primer painted ’70 Barracuda through a bombed out, seemingly abandoned city (Boston?). I ran into my friend Sean, a drummer and car aficionado who, in real life, was always at the epicenter of the best parties. FYI – the car and Sean – this was the good part of the dream.

I pulled up to a building on a street that looked like Dresden after the bombing to find Sean and the party du jour rockin' out. Him and a bunch of his mates piled into my BondoMobile and we took off for a blowout in a different block of rubble.

The entire time, instead of enjoying the wild fun, I fretted. I had to be home by 1AM for a visit with my neurologist. Mia madre was waiting at home for me – she was accompanying me. When I finally got back to the car, ready to zoom off, I found that:

A) my Barracuda was actually a three wheeler – a trike
and
B) the rear tire was blown – OOF.

A Bondo-free Barracuda

At that point I figured Guess I gotta reschedule the appointment and Hope Mutti’s not stressing too much.

Funny thing (funny weird not funny ha-ha), both Sean and my mother are no longer amongst the live and kickin’ of the species. Paraphrasing Cole Sear, I dream dead people.

What’s all this mean? Something wickedly deep – NO DOUBT. I’ll ponder it later. Right now, I gotta hit the gym and then pack. Jen and I leave later this morning for another dip in our new(ish) fave body of water. The geothermal heated lagoon at the rural Icelandic hotel that we adore.

Cool thing about this trip – the flight isn’t an overnighter. Most flights from Boston headed east are. Neither of us can grab sleepy-bye on planes so we arrive utterly depleted and ready to drop BUT we must rally because, ya know, we’re on vaca! Not ideal. This time around, we get in at 11:40 PM, walk five minutes to the airport hotel and crash. Tomorrow morning, all refreshed-like, we’ll grab a bus to our Icelandic Nirvana, check in and FLOAT.

Psyched!