I spent the weekend just generally getting my business — homework, US taxes, driver’s license renewal paperwork*, schedule, notes, car booking, extensive apartment cleaning, lengthy do-to list for Monday — in order.  At the end of it, I spent a couple of hours scrutinizing plane fares for our Big Trip Southwest in May.  As tends to happen, all of my careful, penny-wise research was nullified by the mysterious appearance of a couple hundred dollars’ worth of unanticipated fees and taxes added on at the time of booking, but at that point I was too tired to care.  Plus, the US and Canadian dollars are finally again virtually at parity, and the STM’s much, much belated addition of a dedicated airport bus (named — almost as if the city transit authority possesses wit — the 747) should save us at least $50 on cab fare per trip.

Afterward, though, I realized that I’d be booking a hotel of my choice for the first time in years.  Every other trip that I’ve made for a long, long time has involved either staying with friends or family or in a block of hotel rooms partitioned off by a bride and groom, so it was dizzying to have the freedom to book a room anywhere I wanted.

I stayed up late scrutinizing the interactive campsite maps on the National Recreation Reservation Service’s website, zooming in and out endlessly in an effort to discover which of the few remaining sites — and when they say book early, they’re not kidding — had the potential for the most hidden awesomeness. I thrashed restlessly in bed afterward before falling asleep, listening to the frozen rain smacking against the windows, dreaming about brilliantly clear skies, relentless sun, extreme temperature swings, sand, and endless rocks.

In contrast, the night before, I’d woken with the memory of a very clear dream that I was making a batch of bean dip.  Later that day, I realized that we just so happened to have all of the ingredients for said bean dip on hand: and voila, an inspired (and delicious) lunch.

With dreams like these, it’s going to be a challenge to live in the present for the next few months.

* Add to the list of pernicious costs involved in living in Quebec: the $86 per year that it costs to renew one’s driver’s license.  At least I don’t have to re-take driver’s ed.

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