Dreamed last night about me and the Indy 500. The Indianopolis 500 is an annual auto race pitting 33 drivers in fast, purpose-built speed machines. In my dream, I was a last minute addition, and was attempting to qualify. A woman was sponsoring me, and I think she also owned the car. All I recall of the car is that it was low, shiny, and purple. It wasn’t today’s specs, but more aligned with the specs and designs of the 1970s, i.e., the McLaren and Eagle.

I got in, and then was out, learning that I’d qualified…dead last. The race was due to start. There was a practice session. I went out again and was faster and in better control, I learned, but had been hampered by not wearing my seat belts. I was the only person aware of that. Next, I was going out and would follow another driver — Juan Pablo Montoya — around the track to become more comfortable with the lines. Then I’d be in the race. I felt good about it all, excited and full of anticipation.

That’s where it ended.

The dream ended then because a cat awoke me. He was preparing to upchuck on the bed beside my head. Reacting but half asleep, I pushed him off the bed. I then dreamed of a flying cat. It was like Rocky the Flying Squirrel, except it was my long-haired black and white big boi, Tucker, flying around.

Dreams. Go figure.