Anne Saved My Life!

Saturday night I dreamt that I was going to die. Not some terrible cancer diagnosis where I was waiting around with all of the requisite sadness of pending doom. No my fate was much more my speed.

I was cruising the Porsche around some ridiculous muddy, high mountain road complete with huge boulders and the stuff you find in a Jeep commercial. I had been happily sliding the corners at a high rate of speed when, on a tight, uphill 90 degree turn, the back end slid out and over the edge. I and the Boxter slowly tumbled twice before becoming fully airborne over a cliff. At this point I spun around inside the cockpit and got my feet facing down which happened to be on the passenger side door. I could then look out and see the ground, in ridiculous detail racing up at me. I could see the huge grey rock that the front of the car would hit first and the other smaller boulders on the ledge that I was going to hit. This couldn’t be good and at this speed, it was over and I was going to die.

Anne woke me up just before I hit. Given the urban legend that if you die in your dream you really do die, she might have saved my life. At least she is taking credit for saving me. She tells me that I was whimpering in my sleep and that it scared her to hear this sound coming from me.

So what the hell does this mean? As you can imagine, I have spent several hours today trying to resolve this question. Using all of my intellect, I have determined that this is clearly a sign from God. I must quit my high stress career, become a bike messenger and live low. This all sounded like a good plan and then the following happened:




I don’t like riding in the snow and would never make it here in my beloved Denver. As for riding in the snow, been there, done that, don’t want the T-Shirt. So I must rely on my alternate conclusion: Quit your whimpering and get your ass on the bike!

Nice huh?