This morning when the alarm went off, I was dreaming that I was driving a dump truck to deliver mail. Oh, and I was also investigating a murder while I delivered mail. It brought together two things that are the complete antitheses of each other; having a great Zoloft inspired dream and having it shattered by the alarm.
After work, the real job, not the vivid, interesting one, I went for a ride. I'm trying to get a little farther each day. I made it to Westchester. I hadn't been there since my ill-fated ride with Ambre last fall. I don't think I ever blogged about that ride. It was probably just wrong to go biking in a hurricane, on a night when Campbell Creek had overflowed its banks and Westchester Lagoon had whitecaps. Sometimes people say, "It seemed like a good idea at the time." but I think Ambre and I both agreed it was dumb, but so were we.
Now, though, they've cleared ovals and trails and rinks on the lagoon. The sun was shining, people were skating, everyone was, um, you know happy, laughing.
Oh, oh, and they finally cleared the snow off our street!