Lately, my dreams have been very site-specific. This morning, I woke up remembering this dream:
I was trying to find a gas station to have my car serviced. I wanted it lubed. I was in a small village amid green rocky hills. It was a very pretty place.
I drove around and found a Phillips station on the side of a small, steep hill.
It was very strange place to have a service station, nothing like real life, although the dream seemed very real.
If you wanted your car serviced, you had to drive up and around and come in the back. But there was no service bay, in a normal sense. They had steel ramps that slid out over the canyon, and it was maybe ten feet down to the drive where you got gas.
You were supposed to drive your car out onto these ramps.
So I drove up and around, and the door slid up, and a pretty young black woman, in a service-station uniform, came up to help me.
I got out of the car and looked around, exploring the set-up, the machinery. I stood on part of it, to see how it worked and to see if it was safe.
She said, "Be careful there," or something like that.
I wondered how well this would work. I had never seen anything like it. She said, "It will be OK," or something like that.
It was like having an exciting adventure trying to accomplish a normal, mundane task.
That was it. I woke up. I don't know if I got my car serviced or not. I don't remember driving out onto the cantilevered steel ramps. I don't remember what happened with the pretty woman.
I have no idea what that all means.
Hmmm.
Let me know if you have any ideas.
-- Roger
© Copyright 2011, Roger R. Angle
No comments:
Post a Comment