So it's snowing like that in my dream, with fat flakes alight on the morning breeze as the sun rises over the other apartment buildings RW and I step out and walk to our cars, except he only has one of his cars instead of the three he currently owns. We get into a brief yet heated debate about which vehicle to take -- I want to take my truck because it has four-wheel-drive and as such is going to have superior handling on these road conditions. Despite my rational argument RW is adamant that his Trans Am can handle it. He seems completely unswayed by my suggestion that we take my truck so that if something does happen no ill befalls the car he's most fiercely protective of.
I finally relent and throw my bag in the back of the T/A (Some of you may have made the connection that this is the same Trans Am I was riding in while doing 110 mph down IL-83) before I settle into the passenger seat. No sooner do I buckle my seat belt than we start arguing about having the T/A's traction control on. That's when I woke up.
This definitely qualifies as one of the more unique dreams I've had in the last few months. I suppose if I were so inclined I could make a connection between the anxiety of keeping RW's shiny muscle car safe and my own anxiety about my new SUV. The amusing part is that despite my worry and attempts to keep it safe I've already managed to allow the truck to come to harm -- the roof rack now has a series of scratches on it from an incident at the office on Friday. I was tired, hungry, upset and generally in a hurry. DP was riding shotgun and I was distracted by a conversation I was having with him so I didn't actually think about where I was going. At that point my mind was in turmoil: I'd gotten bad news in my meeting, said meeting had been little more than two hours of arguing and bitter rhetoric, my blood sugar was in the cellar and my other coworkers were dragging their feet in the building, thus further delaying my meal. I wanted to move the truck over to a specific corner of the parking lot so I could wait for them to come out the door, get them in the truck and go in as short a time period as possible. Yeah, you guessed correctly... I drove under one of the I-beams that said "Six foot six inch" clearance but more honestly has something like a six-foot-one-inch clearance. Since my truck stands about 6'4" there was a horrible scraping sound that made me wince behind the wheel -- the moment I heard it I knew what had just occurred and I cursed myself for a fool. Once I was able to maneuver the truck into an open parking space I threw the gear select into park, set the brake and got out to survey the damage. Fortunately nothing too terrible had happened -- at most the roof rack traded paint with the underside of the beam. I spent a few minutes very carefully checking the cabin roof to make sure there were no dents or other indications of damage. Finally I gave it a clean bill of health and got back into the cab, muttering under my breath at how careless and outright stupid I had been -- I knew that beam was one I couldn't clear, but I had been so distracted I didn't even think about the fact that I would have to go under it to get to that particular corner of the parking lot. In a way it's funny, I guess -- now I can breathe a sigh of relief as the first major blow has been struck to the vehicle. It's purely cosmetic and won't cost me anything to fix since I'm sure I can buff the paint off the rubber that coats the roof rack. Still, it's counts as a dent, and it's the first dent or ding that you try to avoid for as long as possible. Now that I've gotten it out of the way I can stop obsessing and actually drive the Expedition like the work truck it is. Hell, I will probably do far worse to it this fall when I drive back to Minnesota and then venture North to my uncle's house in Bagley for a few days of deer hunting.
I'm so woefully male sometimes.
Today's plans are pretty laid back... the usual trip to BD's will be made for lunch, and this time we'll be joined by
Let me see your face again before I have to go