Is it just me, or is it supposed to be a well known supposition that birds chirp in the morning and not all night? Because there was a bird chirping outside my window all night long. I kept waking up and hearing the bird. It's song? Never changed. It has to be past mating season by now, right? I had to eventually come to the conclusion that it was out there just to enter my dream, because that is exactly what it did.
In my dream I was working at a posh upscale resort. God forbid I actually be vacationing at a resort. No, I was working at one. As some sort of cruise director, but not on a cruise. On this particular day, I took people rock climbing. Because I do that almost every day in normal life and I would know exactly what to do. Assuming that rock was about 2x3 inches, we'd be good.
These rocks, not so small. At least that's what I took away from it from the state of my feet when I returned from a damned successful rock climbing adventure. They were torn apart. I obviously didn't have the right shoes for the event, nor did I have the right ones to soothe my aching and bloody feet.
Like most normal people, it was at that point that I took to the kitchen, to MacGyver my way through the need for foot repair. I picked out two mismatched Pyrex casserole dishes (with arch support!), filled them with water and duct taped them to my feet.
As soon as I was sitting snugly in my modern take on the glass slipper, all hell broke loose and a horse came into the courtyard without a rider. Dammit. A tour had gone sour in my incredible resort. Even with arch support, I didn't think the sloshing water and duct tape would make my casserole shoes the most ideal footwear in which to round up a horse (now running through the lobby) or to go trekking through the brush in search of a horseless rider.
That's when I heard the bird. A loud, squawking sound, coming from a clearly frightened bird. It drew my attention to the large silo to the left, just to the side of the lobby of my posh resort. As most resorts do, this one had a massive, old fashioned farm silo with a ladder and a switch that would open and close the roof.
A bird was inside the silo, it's foot caught (what's with the feet?), keeping it from flying properly and it was banging on the sides of the silo. Given my shoes, I wasn't able to climb the ladder, but I flipped the switch to open the silo, hoping that the open space might give the bird strength to break free of its tether and fly away.
But what I saw wasn't blue sky and a clear path to green pastures, but rather a crowded highway, the bottoms of cars and semi-trucks speeding by. I frantically worked to close the hatch to keep the bird pounding against the silo rather than get killed in traffic.
At least I had my casserole shoes.