Would You Like a Filter for that Dream, Sir?

My wife and I visited a new friend this weekend. He has three Harley-Davidson motorcycles in his garage and is quite the collector. The bikes looked pretty inviting standing there ready to go, an adventure waiting to happen.

I know nothing about motorcycles. However, this morning I thought to myself, “I should buy a motorcycle.” I really did. And for about two minutes I believed I could do it. Yes, I thought I could go out and buy a motorcycle and ride it. I pictured myself flying down PCH, speeding past cars and enjoying the ocean air. I was so cool.

Then I remembered I have CF and the dream burst like my lung during an infection. Play the emergency braking and motorcycle crashing against a wall sounds. Dream over.

How did I believe I could maneuver a heavy bike through L.A. traffic, breathing all of those exhaust fumes? I’d be coughing up blood 30 seconds into my first ride. Do you know how difficult it is to ride with the inside of your face mask covered in blood?

These two-minute fantasies are one of my least favorite parts of cystic fibrosis. I have them a lot. Yeah, sure I can fly to Europe on business. (Count to two minutes.) No, I cannot fly to Europe. What was I thinking? I’m a complete idiot. Did I really believe for a minute that I could do that? That it would be smart to take an 11-hour flight? How did I let myself believe it?

It’s almost as if I have the thoughts of a normal healthy person and it takes these thoughts a couple of minutes to reach the “CF filter.” Some thoughts pass through this special strainer just fine – go to McDonalds and buy a McGriddle. Eat the McGriddle. Wish you had one more McGriddle. Other thoughts? Well, they get filtered – ride your Harley to Malibu and meet two Brazilian supermodels who are only interested in a one-afternoon stand.

Oh, yeah, and then there’s the “I have a wife” filter.

2 thoughts on “Would You Like a Filter for that Dream, Sir?

  1. Ha, I actually bought the motorcycle! Well, not a motorcycle but a convertible. The little two-seater Honda used to make, the del Sol — I think it was Honda’s answer to the Miata. I was having a mid-life crisis (age 40) and worried I would always later wish I had had the nerve to drive one. I drove the North Dallas Tollway in the spring with the wind blowing my long blonde hair, feeling NORMAL. Until I got a sinus infection. My doctor looked at me and said, “YOU bought a convertible??” Top stayed on thereafter unless I could drive real slow on a non-windy day. I still loved having the little sporty car!

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