It always happens in the middle of the night.
In the middle of a dead sleep Iíll conjure up some high wire scene, walking the three inch beam or working a 24 story parapet wall with no tie-off. Stuff I ordinarily donít do, the ironworker thing best performed by the boys from upstate NY with names that ring of land and air.
Or looking out over the edge and seeing just how high up I am, and shivering.
Then the drop, the slip, only an instant of free flight, and my knees buckle and arms slam against the bed to break the fall and I wake up with a hammering heart, panting like a worked over mule.
This has been going on for years. Never have figured it out, in my waking times on the job I have absolutely no problem with heights at all. Roof work, ladders, a bucket lift, Iíve done it all and sometimes at heights that only a bird could enjoy. Back a couple of years ago, Stu and I rented a bucket lift to do siding and trim on a really tough jobsite. Iíd hop in there and soar skyward, three stories tall and be happy as a clam, the wind howling and the bucket waving around like some giant tetherball, literally bouncing off the house at times.
Itís strange. I dream about being rich too, and that never happens.
Maybe being clairvoyant isnít what I was cut out to do.
The Meters, Dave Matthews Band, Bob Dylan, Yolanda Adams, Allen Toussaint with special guest Elvis Costello, Ani DiFranco, James Taylor. Thatís week one.
Fats Domino, Jimmy Buffett, Lionel Richie, Paul Simon, Keith Urban, Irma Thomas, Robert Randolph & the Family Band. Uh huh, week two.
The Lineup is out. And I only listed the names you would recognize. Which amounts to oh, about 5% of those who will actually be playing.
I do this every year. Torture myself. Itís been six years since I went and for all the lusting, itís probably gonna be seven after itís all said and done.
Besides, if I went on down there and saw the city I wouldnít want to leave.
Dammit, Robert Randolphís gonna be there. Why God do you torture me thusly? Kick me off a ledge so I can slam into the bed why donít you, itís a helluva lot easier to get over that. Dreaming about stuff like this just isnít right. Ainít right, I say.
Besides, itĎs embarrassing as hell when Ally catches me pointing towards the laptop screen and blubbering like a twelve year old girl.
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