Better Days

It was a little disappointing to wake up from a fantastic dream only to find that everything was exactly the same as the night before.

In my dream, Iowa looks like Ireland. I’m in a small cottage on the edge of a huge and stormy lake. There’s a small town nearby. I am on vacation. I am excited to find this epic slice of wild beauty, and have it all to myself.

I wake to my alarm at 6:45. I am alone in bed. The sky is blue, but the lake is gone.

‘Shit,’ I say to no one at all.

Showering up, brushing my teeth, splashing on Aramis, it’s all battle armor to defend against an unfliching, uncaring city. People talk to themselves here. People yell at each other here. People bump into each other, jostle and jockey for a place in line.

Worse, it’s Tuesday, a non-entity of a day. And all this normalcy is killing me. No oceans, no mountains, no rock shows, no plumes.

I turn from the mirror to head downstairs, and spot a shaft of sunlight stretched across the hardwood floor. If I were a kitten, I’d roll around in it. But I’m just a man, so I pause a moment, take it in, and head to the office.

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