Dreams.

So, I walk into the ring – it's some kind of regional MMA championship, or maybe not even regional, and not even a championship, because it was held either in a school or a dormitory (although the ring looks like it's for professionals). My opponent is some unknown guy, roughly my build. The referee quickly explained the rules, everything as usual, and the fight begins. I start pressing forward on my opponent in the style of a stubborn bulldozer, taking slow steps and keeping a tight defense. I take a couple of steps forward, and suddenly, the damn floor of the ring throws me up in the air! I try to strike again, and it happens again. My opponent starts spinning and doing all sorts of fancy kicks, and this mischievous trampoline, which apparently replaced the floor of the ring, throws him up to the ceiling. My opponent continues to fly, and I continue trying to catch him in bulldozer style. After who knows how many minutes, he flies up again, I fly up after him, grab him by the heel, and I'm about to tear his Achilles tendon, but the fight is stopped: time's up. The audience is unhappy, everyone doesn't care that they put a trampoline instead of a ring; the fighters are, of course, to blame. I leave the ring, go to sleep, and wait for some other fight. I didn't wait, I woke up.