There was an open ended building with concrete floors where friends rolled toy trucks in my direction. The building faced a beach that was bookended on the right by scores of people. I was trying to ride over the train of trucks from nose to tail, but was on a bike whose gear was to big to turn over in a fast enough succession. I made it over, but it wasn't clean. We tried again. This time I went outside to get proper momentum. I pushed the bike to the right amid screaming beach goers on four wheel driven ATVs and my feet sunk in the wet sand. Side steps were made and shoes were muddied. Above me, people hung from parachutes and glided over the grass hills. With enough room to make a clean run, I started back. To my surprise and fully acknowledged content, the room was now empty and the trucks gone.
I joined a friend in an adjacent structure. A party was underway. A band had just gone on for its one song set and I was invited into yet another room. Here I was asked if I had any interested in getting away. I was asked if I was ready to start over. I replied, "I can start today." Things looked promising.
At this point, I shared some recent knowledge with my friend. They replied with some undisclosed insight as to me burning all the bridges I had once crossed by failing with my pen. I was perplexed.
Elderly people shuffled past and took their seats in what appeared now to be an industrial work space. Lights hung from long cords and tucked themselves into metal canisters. Long tables and simple metal stools filled the room. A video played on a screen where the band once was. I was confused, but certain. I woke up.