Knocked Subconscious

(Quick aside, first:  Has anybody else had problems since yesterday afternoon with the “Edit comment” feature?  I’ve tried to edit my last few comments since late yesterday with no success…it’s like the “Update Comment” button doesn’t work.  The cursor doesn’t change from an arrow to the little pointer hand when you hover over it.  Anyway.)

I knew I stayed up a little too late on Monday night, so last night I went to bed an hour earlier.

You wouldn’t know it when I woke up this morning.  It was one of those mornings when I had to use every ounce of willpower I had to drag my ass out of bed.  I knew if I didn’t do it right then then I’d probably sleep another three hours.

I even went back to a morning Coke as some added insurance for keeping my eyes open during the drive to my son’s school and back.

I remember having a few freaky dreams last night, though, and they’re so weird that I’ll recount them.  I’m not a huge believer in dream interpretation, but if you wanna, go for it.  Surely there’s some good jokes to be made at my expense here.

First, not surprisingly, I dreamed of Jim, my mentor.  I dreamed that I was at some sort of big event in one of the lecture halls at VCU, and there would be something on the program in his honor.  At first, I dreamed he was there speaking himself.  His voice was rough, and he sounded really emotional.  But something in my head must have screamed “DOES NOT COMPUTE” because I remember even thinking to myself in the dream “Uh, he’s dead.  Right?”  Then in that typical dreamlike suddenly-things-changed way it wasn’t him, but another professor in the department who only sort of looked like him, who said lots of great things about him and then sat down. There were others there, fellow classmates in his classes, that I hadn’t thought until recently.  Interesting.

Then that dream ended, and another, much weirder one started.

Everybody laugh:  I was racing motorcycles.

Well, not at first.  First, I was at some racetrack that I didn’t recognize, and I happened to meet my brother and his wife there.  They were looking for a place to sit, and I said “Hey, I have great seats, and Dys isn’t here, so why don’t you both come down and sit with me?  There are usually a few empties there so I don’t think the one extra person will be noticed.”  On the way, we passed a couple of my (female) cousins.  For that, I have zero explanation.  It’s enough of a leap to get my brother into a motorcycle race ticket.  But anyway.

Then there was some sort of deal in which somebody I knew turned out to be connected to the Kawasaki racing team.  (Why Kawi?  Of all the Big Four, plus Ducati and Aprilia, that’s the manufacturer I seem to feel least interested in.)  They were selling autographed stuff.  “Oh sure, I might be interested,” I said.  Uh, no.  They wanted me to autograph stuff, along with their riders, crew chiefs, and a few other moto-racing celebrities, to auction them off.  Apparently, in the dream at least, my moto-journalism had earned me some recognition.  [The Todd]Dream-score five![/Todd]

So I was back in the Kawi garage, signing number plates and posters and helmets and miscellaneous other crap.  Then, uh, suddenly I was on a bike and on the grid.  It was an older bike, not a modern racing bike – it was more like a late-70s two-stroke standard UJM.  We must have been running heat races or something, because there were several two- or three-lap heats, after which we’d change up and run ’em again.

On the first heat, I got a great start, broke from the pack, then made a wrong turn on the confusingly-laid-out course and had to retrace my steps, which led to me fighting hard just to keep from falling a lap behind.

On the second heat, and here is where I prove it was a dream, part of the race was done inside some kind of restaurant or general store. Like the front part of a Cracker Barrel or something.  Yeah, that makes sense.

Anyway, I’d run several heats and done fairly crappily in all of them.  Somehow, in my head, I became convinced that Dys and her mother were in some way responsible for me getting a crappy bike each time – it wasn’t making power like it should, and I couldn’t keep up with the others.  A couple of times I crashed (minorly) and remounted.  But others were falling out due to attrition – broken-down bikes, crashes, and since this was all apparently an amateur event, some were just saying “I don’t want to keep doing this.”

One woman (many of the participants were women, even of varying ages, which in real life is extremely uncommon) said to me in passing, commenting on my bad showing, “I’m surprised you keep going out there.”

I stopped and looked at her, and said “I’m sore all over.  I hurt like hell, really.  But you don’t know how long it’s been since I’ve ridden.  I’m having the time of my life.”

And then I climbed on my bike again on the grid, and revved the engine, and something in the sound just let me know without a doubt that this time, I had the real deal.  The bike was running perfectly.  It was all on me.

Then the damned alarm clock went off.  Nooooooo!  Give me one more heat, I want my chance to shine!!

My subconscious has obviously decided that I need a good torturing.


7 Responses

  1. LOL, that was some dream!!!! There is NOTHING worse than getting woken up from a dream you’re enjoying. No wonder you had trouble getting out of bed! 😀

    As for the comments thing, since I changed my layout, I’ve only been able to amend comments from my dashboard. Can you not even edit them from there? It is working OK for me in there.

    Hmm. It does seem to be working from here…

    After quick testing, it seems to be working everywhere now. Guess it was a temporary glitch. At least in my case!

  2. I think your subconscious may be talking about your career change. Maybe. It’s interesting that the brand you’re least interested in is the one you had achieved fame and fortune with. I’d like to know what would have happened if the alarm hadn’t woken you up.

    Well, I didn’t achieve fame and fortune with Kawasaki, they just wanted me as a famous moto-journalist to lend them a veneer of fame to the shit they were trying to sell. Heh.

    I’m choosing to believe that I would have won the race in spectacular fashion, after which I would have been carried off by six or ten umbrella girls and then…oh, hi, honey! Yes, these girls were just taking me to the winner’s podium. My legs are all worn out from hanging off and all that.

  3. We were talking about Kawi and Melandri last night at dinner, remember?

    And my mother, maybe, but not me. In dream-world, baby, I’d get you a rockin’ bike. 🙂

    We were? Seriously? I have no recollection of talking about Kawi last night. Just that whole spilled-spaghetti thing, really.

    And I’ll place an order for a Desmosedici, thanks. Although an M1 wouldn’t break my heart. (Or an old RC211V if you could find one.)

  4. Were there any random naked girls walking around in ANY parts of your dreams? Somehow, no matter, what I am dream about…someone ends up naked.

    Sadly, no. I could be a motorcycle racer in my dream, I guess, but thinking women would be taking their clothes off in front of me is entirely too delusional!

  5. I would love to judge and say that that is plain weird, but I was dreaming about kiwi fruit last night. I don’t know why, I don’t have a craving for kiwi, I didn’t have kiwi lately.

    At least that makes sense. You know, unless you have a deep, abiding hatred or a long, unrequited love for kiwi, and that’s why you’re dreaming about it. In those cases, yeah, you’s kuh-ray-zay.

  6. About Desmosedici, mentioned above, and taoism: I don’t know if the “5000 km in 2 weeks” ride I had last autuumn on my Desmosedici RR was a taoist experience, but for sure it is an unforgettable one!

    Sir, I’ve never met you before, but I now simultaneously love and despise you.

    Seriously, it sounds wonderful! Glad to hear about someone riding their RR and not just sticking it in a garage and wiping it with a diaper.

  7. Oooohhhh, I love riding motorcycles. Ironically, never really enjoyed riding solo though since I’m petite…always preferred being the “rider” snuggled up nice and close; my soft inner thighs pressed to a pair of strong, muscular outter thighs, the girls snuggled up close to a leather clad back, arms wrapped around a ripped chest, feeling all that power between well, um, uh, nevermind, you get the picture. 😉 Sorry, daydreamin’ for a minute there, sugah. My Daddy had an old Indian so I sure have a weak spot for a strong, handsome guy on a vintage Indian.

    Oooh…Indian. Niiiiice.

    I admit to a soft spot for old Panheads. But nowadays I’m looking forward to a nice modern sport-tourer. Or a standard that I convert to one. Hmm, FZ1…

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