In my dream, I’ve just spent an hour at a curve in a steep, windy road through a forest. Specifically, it’s the road which led from Bell Center Rd up to the farmhouse in which I grew up. We used to ride toboggans down it during winter; it was that steep.
I’ve spent the hour trying to fit some fiddly pin-and-slot mechanism in the middle of a busted mountain bike, while some well meaning friend, a cop (I think) hovers nearby making comments. I finally get the final U-shaped piece in place, jostle the bike a bit to make sure it’s going to hold, and then climb on.
We’re each on our own bike, and we’re really tear-assing down the hill, which bends and winds through the woods. (There’s some other person with whom we started out and we’re trying to catch up with them, is the reason for the hurry.)
And then the road bends sharply just at a spot where the surface has gone all damp and mossy after a recent rainfall, and my wheels slip on the moss and I go arcing out into the air, a mess of waving arms and ratcheting gears heading for the trees and scrub below. I’m definitely about to die, and all because I was in a hurry.
In midair I manage to remember that I’m dreaming and blip myself awake before I land. It’s 6:25, light outside, and I’m in Arlington.
As hungry as I’ve been for this transition, I’ll honestly be just as happy when the bad dreams phase is over.