10:57 a.m.
I barely slept. My eyes felt like sandpaper, and the Port from earlier had turned my mouth into a desert. I went downstairs for milk and ended up with a dream still clinging to me.
It began somewhere along the Fraser River – calm water, early summer light. I was thinking about pier design, arguing with myself about how I would’ve built it better. Then Jon was suddenly there. We made out. Had babies. Yeah. No. Weird, right?
Anyway – an inflatable boat floated ahead, dark green, perched on a wooden transport pallet. We got in, started the motor, and for some reason the boat vanished while the plank kept speeding forward. Jon stood upright like a show-off while I yelled at him to sit before we both capsized.
We reached shore. Mike appeared out of nowhere, same cap, same white T-shirt as years ago. I was shirtless in jean shorts because, apparently, dream logic. Jon handed me a pile of clothes from some trip – T-shirts with prank slogans I can’t recall, except that they made us laugh.
By the time we wandered to a Shell station near Garden City, I was suddenly dressed in a red turtleneck fleece and dark pants. We ended up on the patio of a pub that looked like J.P. Malone’s, the air warm and pale blue. Benji sat nearby, cigarette in one hand, pint in the other. He nodded at us and disappeared inside.
I said, “Man, I could do with a pitcher right about now.”
The rest blurred together – laughter, beer, an annoyed stranger who looked like a cross between Darcy and Dale. Then I woke up to six missed calls, a sore back, and the unmistakable price of over-indulgence.
No metaphors this time. Just a boat, a plank, and a hangover.
man….what on earth did our babies look like?