Bad Dream

It was bound to happen. But I never thought it would be because of a conversation Bike Shop Jim and I had the other day. He sent me a text concerning a wheel build issue he was having. It felt good to be consulted; even better that my suggestion may have helped.

It should have ended there. And it did end here in the waking Reality I functioned in day to day. It was in the murky fog enshrouded alternate universe I spent sleeping in that allowed the demons loose to have their way with me. 

Most of the time I sleep unscathed and oblivious to the misadventures my brain conjures up. Not this afternoon however. This afternoon, my afternoon nap lost control. ..........

I came in on the dream after the initial fuzzy moments had already moved on. I had just finished re-spoking a wheelset. The customer came to pick up the wheelset. A heated conversation ensued over what price I promised in the initial estimate and what I was charging now. He called me a crook and said he wasn't paying. He followed up by insisting he was still entitled to the wheelset, new spokes and all.

This clown was a get over guy, a con man. I just knew it; I could tell every word that passed his lips was slippery, butter wouldn't melt in his mouth, sleazy rhetoric and most likely was a lie. I found the estimate, shook it in his face, balled it up and threw it at him. Not happy to stop there, I took the brand new re-spoked wheelset out of his hands, tossed the wheels on the floor and stomped the brand new spokes right out of the them.

In the meantime, the customer and a sidekick grabbed a thrashed Barco-lounger I had in the back corner of the bike shop and ran out the back door with it. I chased, flinging harsh and threatening words about what I was going to do should I catch you, you sleazy fucks.

Out at their vehicle, the customer comes into better focus. It is Donald Fucking Trump. His sidekick I still don't identify. I am in a rage now and ................ police are called, I end up in handcuffs for why I am not sure. As the cops drive me away, my last glimpse of Trump is him sporting that shit eating smirk on his face he so likes to use.

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This is the first dream I have had with the Orange Shit Gibbon as the main character. In the last decade of him polluting the political conversations,  I have no memory of him haunting me in my sleep. It had to happen I guess.

I admitted long ago that Trump owned part of my brain. I couldn't quite get him out of it, so I owned it, went with it, always hoping for relief. Ten years of allowing him rent free space in my mind is long enough; too long actually. I never should have let him in. 

I'll figure this out. I always have. Fuck Trump. I bet a shrink would have a field day with this dream.

Keep it 'tween the ditches ....................................................

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Google "Songs about Dreams" and what pops up are entirely too many songs to pick from. My first choice was the Everly Brothers, then Roy Orbison and then  ........ I tasted 20 tunes at least. It finally came down to choosing between "Sweet Dreams are made of this", by the Eurhythmics or "Enter Sandman". by Metallica. "Sandman" is about fear and nightmares." Sweet Dreams are made..." is about, well, I am not quite sure. Couldn't make up my mind, so I picked "Dreams", by the Cranberries" just so I could end the debate going on in my head. 

Enjoy ...................