A dream plugged into skiing

I only post some of my most bizarre and noteworthy dreams and only, of course, if I can remember them well. Right, nothing's made up!

Last night, I had an appointment with our new physician, a guy in his mid 70s that seemed a bit bizarre, if not totally deranged. I was waiting for my appointment in what looked like a vacated industrial site, with a few people sitting here and there, some having conversations, others gazing aimlessly.

Suddenly, a guy whom I thought I knew, hollered at me, calling me by my name, saying “how are you?” I said “fine, but not as well as I used to”. The man, who bore a strange resemblance to Bob Dylan, with a pencil thin mustache, walked over towards me and soon, we were deep into a conversation.

“We sure don't ski like we used to,” he said “...Today no more helicopters and spread eagles...” I agreed and since I couldn't remember the man's name, I overcome my embarrassment and mustered the courage to ask. The man responded: “Spider Sabich”.

Of course, I thought to myself. I meant to ask him how his French girlfriend was doing, but I didn't quite dare, because in the back of my mind I knew something weird might have happened to their relationship.

That's when it downed on me that Spider was shot dead by Claudine Longet on March 21, 1976 in Aspen, and it made no sense for him to be talking to me. That's when I woke up.