I was sitting here kind of at a loss for what to write about. And then I remembered the wierd dream I had last night. I usually don’t remember my dreams, except the ones involving unnatural acts and rache. I was driving through this incredible mountainous landscape with my dad, who died in 1970. It was India, but the road was way too good for India and we were driving really fast. Dad was at the wheel I was in the passenger seat. It was a roller-coaster ride.
How is one to interpret such a dream. Was it a premonition of death? Was Dad giving me a tour of heaven? Heaven, for me, would include mountains and I’d be in good enough shape to play in them. Or was riding shotgun with Dad driving too fast at the edge of thousand foot cliffs a vision of hell? Or had Dad returned to give me a little driving lesson in the road rally of life, since he didn’t stick around to guide me through my young adulthood? Or were the dream god’s just providing some cheap entertainment to prevent an endless loop of Dianna Taurasi pumping her fists and celebrating UConn’s victory over my beloved Gophers. Or was it just the Garlic Lover’s chip dip?