Friday, March 18, 2011

Irrational Hope

I frequently fly during my dreams, nearly every night. Sometimes I fly like Superman, fast, laying flat, fists breaking through the atmosphere, but without a cape. I've never flown with a cape. Sometimes it's less like flying, more like floating. I know that if I step off that building, I won't fall; I can just float down to the street. Or if there's something I need that's up, way high, I float up to it.

So last night in my dream, I was getting ready to fly home (I don't remember where I was), and started strapping on my back packs (for some reason I had two), and my golf bag. This is the surprising part of the dream. I haven't played golf in 2 or 3 years. The arthritis in my hands and wrists just won't tolerate that kind of physical motion. Other than moving to Nampa, I don't remember the last time I picked up my golf bag. So to dream about golf, just carrying the bag --- that's interesting to me.
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