I’v mentioned before my need to stay out til all hours on my days off work so my sleep schedule can maintain some predictability. This morning I was out until about 4, and in bed at 4:30. And I slept.
And I dreamed (Dreamt? I’ve always kind of held a grudge against the word “dreamt,” since its existence is wholly unnecessary. “Dreamed” fulfills all of the necessary functions that “dreamt” could possibly aspire to. If “dreamt” wants to hang around, it should get a couple of side hustles, like as onomatopoeia, or some kind of utility cuss word. But I digress).
I dreamed that, due to being enrolled in some sort of adult education course (sorry, no details are available to my subconscious) being held at a local high school, I found myself on the track team, about to participate in a 4-440 relay race. As second man to carry the baton (which was actually a 6" diameter rubber ring such as I used to have to play tug-of-war with Oliver, my erstwhile Labrador. But I digress again), I was explaining to my teammates that I had to give and receive handoffs on my left side. So now we’re just standing around, waiting for the order to get on our marks, and it suddenly occurs to me that, as a 67-year old man, I really have no business participating in this thing. Mostly because I could not possibly be an asset in this race. It generally takes me between five and ten minutes to perambulate a quarter of a mile (and on an oval track, I’m likely to decline to make the circuit, on the grounds that I’m already at the place where I’m “supposed to get to”), and these guys were aiming (at worst) for 45-75 seconds.
So, there I am, worried about letting down the side, and that’s when I wake up, and think to myself “Besides, trying to run 440 yards, will probably kill me.”
Anyhow, going to try to grab another couple of hours of sleep, then off to my sister’s house for some July 4th BBQ, after which I head to work. Stay safe and sane, keep all your fingers, and give any freaked-out critters in your care an extra comforting hug from me!