Prometheus vs. Poseidon vs…….me?

November 28, 2010

I had a strange dream last night:

I roll over and grope my cordless box thing I use to make phone calls. 10:46 am. Shit. I am late for work. I stare at the phone a bit longer and the following appears on the screen: “10:46 am. Shit. I am late for work.” Apparently I have a super power of some kind involving a deep telepathic bond with cell phones. After backflipping out of bed into a set of 10 jumping jacks while giving myself my usual “Your job NEEDS you!” pep talk, a pep talk that is completely untrue, I run down the stairs and out the door to my…….bicycle? Where the hell is my car? It’s my dream and I demand an Infiniti G35!

The sun is at high morning posture, a yoga position that it is in the process of patenting. I am at 54 Dover Road, my childhood house. The day is crisp & mild with a slight breeze to break up the monotony of perfect. The sound of a jackhammer, a bobcat, and other construction monsters cut through the serene aura of birds chirping. I roll my eyes at the tactlessness of the construction cult for working so early in the morning (to those of us that don’t wake until noon) and notice that my bike has gone missing. I approach the construction worker and over the sound of the jackhammer jacking, yelling like an obnoxious American tourist at a foreigner in their home country, demand to speak with their supervisor. The yellow hat-wearing worker (who has a handsome late 80’s mustache) points into the garage. As I near the supervisor, I see my bike stuck between two planks of boundary wood in a garden. I rip my bike out with some effort and hop on.

Not long into my ride, I notice that the handbrakes are missing. Not only the handbrakes, but the wire that connects them to the brakes, the chain and….the tires. How I managed to ride a bike with no tires is something that would take another whole sentence to explain. I refuse to do that. I clamorously drag my bicycle to the house having the work done on its front yard and right before yelling at the men working, I look up in the sky and see 2 dots on the edge of a cloud. I peer closer at it and everything goes dark for a split second, making me feel like I have been knocked off my feet.

When I open my eyes, I am up in the sky with my girlfriend, whose code name will be “bandia”, which is Gaelic for “goddess”. She and I are debating who would win in a fight: The god of fire, or the god of water. She sides with the Matchbox 20 wannabe and I vouch for the wrath of a thousand squirt guns. They both look like Zeus to me. We look down onto the land beneath us and take in a beautiful sight: 2 temples rise from the beautiful, square pools that remind me of the rectangular one at the Taj Mahal. The one belonging to the flamer is surrounded in pyroclast and steam, its foundation stained in soot. The other temple is surrounded in a rushing torrent of water and an aura of mist. The battle ensues.

By the end of it, the god of water lay dead on the ground, his body still sizzling, charred, and broken, his trident still in his hand. Codename “bandia” starts giving me crap for being wrong and so I hold up my hand and tell her I will be right back. I focus on the god of fire and scream through the sky, landing on my feet next to the god of water with a loud boom. I take the trident from his hand, offended by the smell of burning flesh and fresh blood and aim it at the god of fire, who is too busy standing proudly with his chest out on his temple steps to notice me. I take aim and throw the trident at him and it makes contact, piercing his chest and going through his back; his heart sticking to the two inner pikes. A look of shock crosses over his face and he clumsily stumbles down the steps, taking his last breath before landing on his face. I look back up in the sky at codename bandia and laugh a little, yelling up to her, “I guess that makes me the god now!” I wake up.

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