September 20, 2002

I Missed My Trip to

I Missed My Trip to Mars Last Night

Thanks to the random neural firings of the subconscious brain during slumber, I experienced yet another totally tripped out dream just prior to my alarm clock blaring me to reality.

So, there I was, sitting on a bus bound for somewhere. I was wearing this un-Godly heavy suit, complete with an unweildy helmet and an air-conditioning unit strapped on my back. Well, obviously, I was all decked out for my upcoming trip to Mars. This is what my brain told me anyway, totally pushing aside reality, and the fact that, just one day before, I was sitting in an IBM office writing an article about electromagnetic radiation. Details, details.

How is the brain able to totally wash away waking memories like that? If it can do it during sleep, what keeps it from just clicking off during a waking day? Just imagine, you're out for a run, and suddenly *BAM* you think you can breathe underwater because you've been genetically altered by German scientists, so you jump in the lake and swim to the bottom. . . and then you die. Perhaps it's best not to think about the power of the brain.

Anyway, when it dawns on me that I'm on a bus bound for a rocket bound for Mars, I naturally start to panic, because I know that a trip to Mars is probably a tad dangerous. After all, my brain decided to remember that a manned trip to Mars had never been done before -- this was the first. Oh, shit. It's a seven month trip to get to Mars! What am I going to do aboard a rickety ship for seven months? What if something goes wrong? Why me?

But, at the same time I'm working myself into a massive panic, I'm also incredibly excited that I was selected for such a historic and unique mission, totally dismissing the fact that I'm about as unqualified as an earthworm to undergo inter-planetary travel. As far as my brain is concerned, there must be SOME reason I'm headed for Mars, and that's all I need to know.

I get off the bus at the base of an insanely large rocket booster. My family is waving and blowing kisses from a distance (can't have germs you know). I take an elevator to the top of the rocket, where I'm informed we'll be docking with the larger craft once in orbit around earth. Oh, I guess that makes sense. I'm strapped into my seat, my heart pounding furiously with the knowledge I'm pretty much sitting atop a controlled bomb. 10-9-8-7-6-5-4-3-2. . .

I'm woken up by Shakira, and now I'm at work. I'd rather be on my way to Mars.

Posted by Ryan at September 20, 2002 10:51 AM
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