Who Stole My Car?
Welcome to "The Gods Are Bored" on a night when I can't even poke fun at myself. If you're looking for laughs today, move on. I'll see you tomorrow.
Last week I dreamed I was visiting a fancy hotel. I parked my car outside. When I went to get my car, it was gone.
I rushed back into the hotel and reported my car missing. I had a feeling that the hotel management was somehow responsible, that they had done something with my car and couldn't return it.
I demanded the immediate return of my car. Someone said, "Your car is outside." I went outside (it was cold and raining). At first the car looked like mine, but on closer inspection it had a station wagon back. It was not my car.
I went back inside and freaked out. I got angrier than I've ever been in my life. I slammed my fist down on the counter and screamed, "I want my car, and I want it NOW!"
Then I woke up.
Unless you're into boats or horses, you probably have a bond of identity with your automobile. This is the modern age. For better or worse, we are our cars. I have always chosen sensible little economy cars that don't go very fast but are cozy and not terribly attractive to thieves.
I am my car, and in my dream it was gone. The replacement car looked somewhat similar, but it had bad differences that I couldn't live with.
This is where my life is right now. Who took my car? Who took me? Where is A.J?