three dreams

Last night I dreamed that Dad showed up with a surprise bike for me. The night before I dreamed I was biking down the main street here with my breaks failing, but there isn't much more of a story there. I avoided the traffic and got stopped and woke up shortly after.

Last night, however, you and Dad had arrived in the city, but hadn't told me you were here. I knew because you were leaving tokens of your arrival all over campus. The most impressive was Dad's old red road bike (Though not the one that went missing, this one still sits in the barn at home. For the purposes of this dream its sitting in the hallway at school with me leaning over it). The rear tire needed attention, some air, new treads and to be reattached to the frame. It seemed to be held on by strategically lazy cobwebs. There was a rear rack, but it hung to one side apparently by the weight of the rust. The handle bars were bent down, but the looked like they could be bent back up if one was patient and careful.

The night before I had dreamed of a bike shed in the backyard of my big city house.

what do you think, Bird? you said to me in my dream from last night, which was startling because you hadn't been standing there moments before.

I stood sheepishly there because I was embarrassed to have been startled into breaking the handle bars off in my hand.

it's great, i said honestly because I knew you knew I needed a new bike (although in my dream life I knew I hadn't told you and I knew that you had read about it here and I knew you were here to surprise me.) I also knew that it could be fixed up, regardless of how many parts came off in my hand.

Dad was behind you, smirking like he was hiding something. He was.

Behind him was a chopper-like pedal-bike. Beefy and low to the ground with a bucket seat and what looked like a cup holder on the roll bar which turned out not be either but merely the way the light was hitting wall behind. He loved it. I also loved it, but he loved it more. At least I think he did. I was even more sure that he did after I told him I had already picked up a replacement bike because he acted as if he already knew that and had already decided that he was going to keep it for himself.

I was even more sure after I took a walk around it. His vanity plates said DADSRIDE.

In dreams chopper-like pedal-bikes have vanity plates.

I don't want to talk about it

Two bikes? How do i get two bikes stolen?

One, .. sure.

Whoops. I went to the pub and left it locked in the wrong place and someone needed it more than me.

Fine. Take it. You might have been hungry or thirsty or bored.

I can find something else that will serve the purpose. After all, I'm not chasing a yellow jersey.

But then the "something-else-that-will-serve-the-purpose" gets taken and I feel like I might cry.

Cry, or wound something. I'd like to wound something. Like something riding a red bike with a rack on the back and CCM painted on the tubing.

I'd like to wound something like that. If someone can find me something like that let me know and I'll feel better.

It didn't make me feel better annexing my landlady's bike.

I didn't feel better walking several block to put air in tires that may or may not hold air.

I certainly didn't feel any better as I rode up hill paying close attention to tires that may or may not hold air and not nearly enough attention to the pedal that certainly won't stay attached to the crank any longer.

that's fine world, I'd rather carry it anyways. Besides, my left leg is a bit weaker than my right. This will work out much better

If something is to fall off a bike it almost always does so in an intersection. #murphyslaw

I most certainly didn't feel better biking up hill with one pedal to get to a big box store that doesn't stock the part I need to make my landlady's bike usable for the next three days. I need something to get me to campus until I find a way to a bike shop to buy another bike that will most certainly be taken from me too.

It didn't make me feel any better to have to tell Dad that I couldn't meet the two of you for mass tonight because I had homework to do. Sure I have homework, but I can put it off. I didn't want to have to tell you I lost another bike.

And this time it was his bike I lost.

So no, I don't want to talk about it. Unless someone finds me something to wound. Then I'll feel better talking about it.

online math post

the other day in my classroom math class i was presenting my group's solution. we had drawn a picture and written a sentence.

well, i had re-drawn the picture that several of us had come up with and then re-written the ideas down that one other group member had come up with.

when i hung it up to present i realized that the sentence i had written couldn't be called a sentence because it was missing the essential bits.

"that isn't a complete sentence" i said to myself and the class as i faced the board "but that doesn't matter because this is a math class, not an English class"

it was out before i could bite my tongue. i turned slowly and saw the professor grimacing.

i back peddled as quick as i could, but it didn't make a difference, the damage was done.

I don't know why I said it, I don't think that. I understand that language arts should be incorporated into all lessons, just as the lines between other subjects should ideally be blurred, dissolved if possible.

I blamed it on my associate and what she had told the class time and time again during my placement. That isn't at all fair to her, she wasn't presenting there with me, standing in front of my peers defending my ignorance.

Have any of you been told that there's a difference between math or language arts or visual arts or gym or spelling or ____?

la button

i've was just bullied by the new post button.

when i logged on I felt it looking at me. I could feel a button looking at me.

where do you think you've been? it asked. i know it did. i felt it ask me.

around. i've been around. doing .. stuff. busy, you know. work. school. those big reports are due soon ..

I could feel myself drifting into a conversation that would soon sound like that virus email that went around about a month ago.

I am sure you know the one. It took hold of your address book and told everyone your sorry for not having talked for a while, but that you knew they were busy with work/family/travel. .. but anyways, i just found this incredible site that allowed me to make hundreds of dollars a day by ..

(it was sent to me by a friend whom i ran into a week later and never got a chance to tell him about it because i never called him back and i've only just realized now. E^#.)

the new post button starred back at me, obviously not taking my crap filled crap story. it raised it's eyebrow.

what, you think you can just stroll back in here and do what you want?

i shrugged my shoulders and smirked a bit. you're a button, not a person. leave me alone.

but thanks for a posting topic

i wonder why my first posts written after short hiatuses are typically about writing or not writing or not knowing what to write about.