What Dreams May Come...

I had a dream last night that I felt needed sharing.  If you'll allow me to indulge...

It's 6:30 PM on Saturday July 8th.  The weather has been perfect all weekend.  The sun is still shining but beginning to show the earliest signs of setting over a beautiful blue Pacific ocean.  All the basketball has been played.  I have just finished getting ready for what will be our final grand finale of a night on the town.  I walk out of the bedroom and into the kitchen...

Immediately I notice Jeffrey aka The Juice standing at the kitchen counter.  He has spectacles down over his nose and is closely inspecting a grapefruit.  He takes a whiff.  He looks up at me and says knowingly, "You're looking for that perfect balance of acidity and sweetness." He begins to slice.  "Nice color on the pulp," he mumbles to himself.  Jewelers don't inspect precious stones with the rigorous intensity that The Juice works a piece of citrus. 

The Juice is surrounded by several members of the QP.  They are anxiously awaiting their next full craft to be handed to them by The Juice, so they can pour liquor into it and continue pregaming.  "We bout to turn up BOI!" yells A Hop.  Spotlight and Abe chest bump and then stare into each others eyes for a few seconds too long.  I wonder...

I turn and wander upstairs, not knowing where the cool Pacific breeze is taking me.  I turn right, into a bedroom where I find Beas transitioning flawlessly from Warrior I into Downward Facing Dog. "What up Smo man?" he asks me as the sunlight dances off the beaded sweat forming on his chiseled abdomen.  "Coolin' fam," I reply as I turn to leave.  

I walk outside onto the deck and am greeted warmly by Joe and BC.  Joe has just got done rolling up some of California's finest Devil's lettuce and asks, "You trying to hit this?"  I hit this.  I turn to look as BC pulls an unlit cigarette from behind his ear and lights it with his current cigarette.  He takes a long drawl, blows a smoke ring, and exhales the rest through his nostrils.  "What it look like?" he asks.  "I can't call it," I say as I dap him up and turn to leave. 

I hear shouting and as I enter the living room I see Dan the Boy and Sabin screaming at the television.  They are both intensely watching the games that took place less than an hour ago.  "Where's the help side D?!" Dan yells almost loud enough so the IV in his arm comes loose.  Sabin scribbles furiously in his notebook and mutters "That's sure to hurt his draft status next year."  Dan takes a long swig of his 45th coconut water of the day that will undoubtedly be credited towards the "collective weekend tab" to be paid for by everyone else.  "Only 364 more days until PCTI9!!" Dan screams at me as I hastily leave the room with genuine concern for my safety.

I decide to step outside for some fresh air.  I walk past Ben Wilson, and keep walking.

As I step outside I see TP, who is on the phone and in a shouting match with an Indian man.  The man has clearly missed yet another pick up for FreshPoint Dallas.  Par for the course, I think to myself.     

I close my eyes and take a deep breath.  Be present in the moment, I tell myself.  As I feel the breeze on my face, I look up towards a beautiful sunset, and think to myself that for the first time in my life, I am exactly where I need to be.