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golden-retriever-dog

“When Gregor Samsa woke up one morning from unsettling dreams, he found himself changed in his bed…” The Metamorphosis, Franz Kafka

“Why is it so hot this morning?” I ponder as I slowly wake from oddly lucid dreams of chewing rawhide and hunting flying squirrels.

I fall out of my bed onto the gray floor’s hard ceramic tiles.

“What is going on? Why can’t I straighten? Am I going blind? And, what is that smell?”

I crawl to my cherry Coaster Louis Philippe dresser and slowly paw my way to its top and use it to balance.

“What the-”

I stare at what must be me in the beveled mirror with abject horror!

In the place of me, a middle aged, overweight, dental hygienist, a golden retriever pants!

“But, my husband is allergic to dogs!” I bark.

“Oh no, did I just bark?!”

I frantically scurry around the room trying to understand what has happened and resist my gut urges to simultaneously chase my tail and fetch a ball.

“Oh no, I have a tail!”

I faint.

I wake to the easy midday sunlight, sprawled on my favorite rug scrap on the back porch.

“What an odd dream!” I smile and yawn, “I think I was a middle aged, overweight dental hygienist. Who wants to think about getting old, ice cream and teeth all day when I can think about running in spring green fields and autumn brown swamps, sucking on onion grass, and playing with my pups?”

Surrounded by my young, yipping and nipping fuzz puffs, I chase my tail gleefully spying a red ball needing fetching.

http://dailypost.wordpress.com/dp_prompt/futures-past/

When I was a child, I wanted to be a writer. I still want to be one now. How far am I from my course? You tell me. :)

photo wallemon.com

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