I have to do a better job of listening to my subconscious, except when it fails me.
Driving home from church the other day I noticed something sitting in the middle of the road that resembled a wallet. When I drove past, images of popping open the wallet to discover loads of money and no identification had me thinking ways I would spend my new found cash. As I got to the next signal, I pulled a U-turn, convincing myself that the wallet looking item deserved some attention.
My daughter who dines often at the table of "anything that you do out of the ordinary is embarrassing" threw questions regarding my motives at me, like white towels to a sweaty boxer.
"Why are we turning around?"
"I didn't see a wallet. Where are we going?"
"Where did you see it?"
"Can we just go home?"
As I drove back to where the wallet was spotted, I slowed my car to a crawl ready to pull over to the side of the road, pop open my car door, rush into the center lane of the road avoiding any and all traffic, and grab the goods.
Now enter reality. My "wallet" was a dislodged road reflector that had lost it's way. Upon closer examination the reflector shrapnel looked nothing like a wallet. In fact, it mocked me as I peeked my head out of the window to investigate further, and whispered, "Dream on dream weaver." I crossed my fingers, wishing the wallet into existence.
All hope of discovering loads of lost money, vanished.
My subconscious needs some help.
Driving home from church the other day I noticed something sitting in the middle of the road that resembled a wallet. When I drove past, images of popping open the wallet to discover loads of money and no identification had me thinking ways I would spend my new found cash. As I got to the next signal, I pulled a U-turn, convincing myself that the wallet looking item deserved some attention.
My daughter who dines often at the table of "anything that you do out of the ordinary is embarrassing" threw questions regarding my motives at me, like white towels to a sweaty boxer.
"Why are we turning around?"
"I didn't see a wallet. Where are we going?"
"Where did you see it?"
"Can we just go home?"
As I drove back to where the wallet was spotted, I slowed my car to a crawl ready to pull over to the side of the road, pop open my car door, rush into the center lane of the road avoiding any and all traffic, and grab the goods.
Now enter reality. My "wallet" was a dislodged road reflector that had lost it's way. Upon closer examination the reflector shrapnel looked nothing like a wallet. In fact, it mocked me as I peeked my head out of the window to investigate further, and whispered, "Dream on dream weaver." I crossed my fingers, wishing the wallet into existence.
All hope of discovering loads of lost money, vanished.
My subconscious needs some help.
Comments