I dreamed last night that I had a motorcycle. And that it wouldn't go as fast as I wanted it to whilst riding through the streets of Binghamton on my way to some ceremony designed to honor my Dad at which everyone had to wear copper drool cups on their chins. There was also the robbery, the fire trucks, the costumed weddings, the one-way streets, the impossibly complex bike key, the lack of arm strength when fighting off the aforementioned robber, the train ride, the plywood house, and a completely different face in the mirror.
The last thing was the freakiest.
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I'd blame the weird dream on what was for dinner last night, but because I cooked dinner for all 14 of us I'd be implicating myself in my own mind's hasty rush toward complete and utter choas, and can't do that, because in doing so I'd create a Moebius loop of logic and probably spin the earth off its axis or cause duck's backs to stop shedding water, which would, in turn, stop bears from pooping in the woods and the Pope to cease being Catholic, and we all know if that happened that soon the platitude police would be knocking on my door and I cannot afford the ticket, so won't blame my dreams on my cooking.
I'll blame them on the fireworks instead. And the smell of bacon this morning, which, no doubt, got my primal mind churning with mental salivation, cooking up the most vivid delectable visions it could whilst also thinking of meat.
It's a pretty good theory, isn't it?
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Boat rides are best taken when it's not raining. I'm just sayin'. More on that when I do the vacation recap sometime next week. I had to get the dream thing out of the way first.
Have a great weekend y'all!
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