Tuesday, January 21, 2014

The Bus Crash

Last night I dreamed I caught a bus home from work in a sprawling city bounded by an endless coniferous forest. I was the only passenger on the bus, an old-style model from the 1980s with orange plastic bench seats. I was sitting up front, near the passenger entrance; aside from the driver, I was the only one on the bus. 

"He's taking this turn way too fast," I thought an instant before the bus crashed through a guardrail and went sailing down an embankment toward a stand of rough-looking pine. 

"Well, this is it, I'm dead," I said with a mixture of annoyance and contempt for the driver. We hit the trees hard and were flung violently against the bus interior, but we both survived miraculously. Our rescue wasn't detailed, and in the next scene of the dream I was discussing the accident with Sylvia in our apartment, which resembled our old condo. She wasn't terribly concerned about the crash. I, however, felt every ache and pain of a crash that felt as though it had bruised every bone and organ in my body. 

Then I sat down at my computer and wrote a blog post explaining why I'd missed writing anything the night previous; I'd been recuperating from the crash. 

When I woke up I remember that I hadn't forgotten to post last night, but I felt phantom dream-pain until the moment I fully came to my senses in the shower. Vivid dreams are a cursed blessing. 

No comments: