I had a dream the other night, one of the icky ones, where you wake up in neon cobwebs. Five days later, the damp strands still cling.
I was in a massive building complex that was somehow wet inside, slippery. Mostly it was rooms and hallways and stairways that went off in crazy directions leading to dead ends.
Once there was a skinny chute I had to span with my legs to slide down, like John McClane. I was glad the chute wasn’t wider than my legs were long.
Occasionally there was a person, usually with frizzy purple hair, busy working on something tiny, with rasping mechanical parts. When I asked one for directions, she said, “Why would you want to go there?” She turned her back to me, curved over the small metal contraption that occupied her.
After blah, blah, blah, [condensed because, honestly, this went on for hours of dreamtime], someone who seemed to know the territory pointed south. “You need to take the number five bus.”
“Is there a train?”
He laughed.
But then, through the rain-smeared windows, I saw a line of yellow cabs on the other side. I ran through the doors to catch one, but the taxis were only giant yellow blocks, like Lego blocks, but metal, rusted at the corners and dented on the sides.
Bus #5 was the only option.
I tucked my neck against the rain and walked down the sidewalk, glistening with the reflections of neon lights.
. . .
Life is like that sometimes. You want to go somewhere faster than you’re going, and you’re afraid you might not get there. Write that book. Start that online course. Learn Spanish.
Those big things we want to do are often bus work. So many stops. Feeling like we’re lost half the time. Breathing diesel fumes.
But if it’s worth it, and if the bus is the only way to get there, then we gotta take the bus.
.
PS: In numerology, the number 5 represents change.
Chewing the Cud of Good
Thankful for grapes.