Matt kicks ass

Maybe it is a good thing I have Friedreich's ataxia; otherwise I'd be a total jerk ... or at least a bully.

A while back I dreamed about beating up a third-grader. I had the decency then to make myself an eighth-grader.

The other night, though, I dreamed about egging kids to fight and I was 36 and they were like 10. What is wrong with me?

It was their fault, sort of. We have a huge Catalpa tree in my parents' front yard. The tree limbs go everywhere. It is not in the best shape now, but it is still a grand tree. I broke my arm swinging on it, and it was the best places to find "Freds," which is what we called empty locust shells.

The kids were climbing in the tree and sliding along its limbs like cartoon characters do, and it looked dangerous. One of my brothers was in the front yard but he didn't see them. Neither did my little sister, who was on the front porch with me.

I saw them and didn't like what they were doing, so I yelled at them to get down. I started walking toward them, too.

The kids started climbing down and jogging away down the street, and things get a little hazy at this point. One of them said something like "You can't tell us whet to do," but I don't recall if I provoked him. I do recall my response, though: "I'll tell you whatever I want, jackasses."

At this point they turned around and said something else and I retorted something, all the while wondering if I could take five little kids despite my FA. I knew I would be wobbly.

I never exactly found out. I don't recall the fight scene, so maybe I won, maybe I lost. All I do know is that afterward there was a Supersoaker water gun lying up against a fence where one of the kids left it.

A winner wouldn't have left his water gun.

Is it bad this makes me feel cool?