Dream journal, which I will not continue to keep, but last night was messed up, so here we are

I was speeding down a highway in a convertible. Alongside me pulls Tim Conway, also speeding in a convertible. He asks me if he’d see me at the Word Series again this year. I did not see Tim Conway at the World Series last year, for what it’s worth.

I lost Tim, and made my way into Lincoln, Nebraska. I checked into a hotel. Once there my wallet and keys suddenly disappeared, I became elderly and often confused. I would see terrible crimes, report them to the police, the police would come and they would find nothing wrong, assuming i was demented.

I was myself again, at AT&T Park in San Francisco. Justin Bieber was a “celebrity fan.” In-game entertainment consisted of Blue Jay/Oriole/Cardinal races, which consisted of stuffed birds, attached to an electrified cable “racing” around the perimeter of the stadium. They all burst into flame.

Finally, I found myself at the soft opening of a hot new club. There was a human Pac Man game where one played the role of game characters via virtual reality. I found a table and said I would not leave until they served me fried eggs with hot sauce. They did. At the night’s close, the owner said he predicted his club would be a raging success. I assumed it would be.

This is how I dream when I have no alcohol before bed and eat nothing but a giant bowl of roasted vegetables for dinner.

Craig Calcaterra

Craig is the national baseball writer for NBCSports.com. He writes about things other than sports at Craigcalcaterra.com. He lives in New Albany, Ohio with his wife, two kids, and many cats.

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