You've gotta be cruel to be kind

I am having a depressing dream lately. And no, it isn't the one where my friend get killed. She told me she doesn't even carpool her daughter to school, so I am sure she'll be fine. Well, pretty sure. I mean, why should this dream come true but the ones involving grifters and Anna K didn't?

No, my recurring nightmare is that Claren and I will be victims of some random act of kindness.

I mean actual mortal victims.

Claren will meet her maker in a bathroom with automatic doors. People who walk out just in front of me always press the button to open the door. I assume they think this is nice, nicer than just walking out the door and letting it close on me.

That sounds OK in theory, but by opening the door these people are making it really hard for me and Claren to get out before it closes again. We have to be on their heels; otherwise, Claren gets a bang on the ear.

She hasn't yet. The other possibility is she bolts ahead of me when the door starts to shut on her. I fly out of my chair and smack my head on the wall and lie there dead. Claren then wanders around looking for food.

If the doors don't kill us, she and I will get to the pearly gates courtesy of one of the drivers near where I live.

Most of the roads I cross have two lanes each way and a median. The problem occurs when I am in the median waiting for a clear path to finish crossing the street. One car will stop and motion me across. But that forces the car in the next lane to stop, too. I'm just waiting for that second car not to stop.

Of course, I could just motion the first car on, but that risks road rage. Plus, it makes crossing streets an adrenaline-pounding experience.

People just need to turn on their radio and listen to Nick Lowe.

And if anyone notices that occasionally I want help and other times I don't and you're wondering how to tell the difference -- good luck.