I had a dream, last night – this morning: I arrived at a restaurant and told the host i had a reservation. She said there’s still a wait, so i went back outside and sat on a planter.

I was there a minute, with several others, when a young man exited and said to me, “You’ve been optioned.”

Now, i won’t say he was Tohm Bakelas, but i wouldn’t argue if you told me that he was. And to the probably not Tohm – but very similar – i expressed my confusion. As in, “What does that mean?”

He smiled and cheerfully told me, “You’ve been upgraded.”

Now, I’ve been waiting for upgrades my entire life. I’m waiting for my BrainPal (t), synthetic liver, pneumatic heart, and electronic brain, but in this case, it simply meant i was being led past the main dining area of the restaurant.

We walked to a short hallway that was adjacent an elevator bank, entered through double glass doors into a quiet if lively, small space, with a forward bar and several tables arranged behind; a wall of glass overlooking gardens, beyond.

As probably not Tohm and i passed the bar there was some discussion of drinks. Sadly, in my dreams just like in my life, my brain flatlined in the moment and all that arrived in vision was an old fashioned – imagined a functionally reasonable option that sounds less inappropriate and foolish than, “Hard Shirly Temple,” though i wouldn’t pass if one was offered.

However, also like in conscious life, what followed was a request for type of bourbon that’s preferred. When i’ve been asked that in the past, i’ve often said, i try many kinds because names elude me in the moment. In the dream, that indecision led to the suggestion of a 37-year-old bourbon which i didn’t argue against despite the dollar signs i saw emptying from my account.

I don’t even know if that’s a thing, but since i was upgraded i was willing to try it; unfortunately i never did: The alarm went off and i found i’d been downgraded back to myself.

I got up, let the dogs out, and then i hit the treadmill.