I went to the cardiologist today who said my heart is fine. He said he could not say for sure but that it was "very unlikely" I would develop any of the heart problems associated with Freidriech's ataxia. As far as the light-headedness goes, he basically said: Watch yourself; you have low blood pressure so you will really feel a drop of 10 points. This was great news, but the dream I had last night was too odd not to tell ...
Last week, when we were waiting to see the cardiologist, I started telling my little sister all the doctors I have seen. I got up to the neurologists and geneticists of NIH and lost track. Last nigh, I got a chance to see them all.
I dreamed I went back to NIH for a follow-up. It was not promising.
I got there and recognized many of the doctors as they introduced themselves. The first test was to ride a stationary bike that also had an arm exerciser. The doctors called in a therapist to make sure everything was safe and I was warmed up. I was hoping it would be one of the therapists I am still in touch with, but instead it was someone who looked like Sue Sylvester from Glee. She proceeded to get on the bike, ride a bit, announce her muscles properly stretched and leave.
Mom helped me onto the bike. It required me to take off my shoes, but I still rode well. I thought I did. The doctors said things like: Is that the best you can do and Not so easy, is it?
From there we headed to another office. I wanted to stop at the bathroom, but there was a baby in there being catheterized or something and a mother blocked the door, daring me to go past her.
I went back later. Holy cow! What a bathroom! It had fountains for bidets and lots of stalls. There was also a row of bike-like devices. But best of all: a self-serve soft ice cream dispenser. It seemed that the women's bathroom did not offer ice cream because several women were in the men's room getting cones.
Afterward, I went back and waited for my next appointment. NIH had changed. It had become kind of a hospice spot. I saw a lot of dead people, mostly older.
That was more or less fitting because when I finally got in to the appointment, the doctor told me there was "substantial" decline in my systems from the Freidriech's ataxia. They had only expected a "moderate" decline so they thought we should get "aggressive" in treating the FA. I don't know what they suggested. It did not involve radiation treatments. At least, any more radiation treatments. They told me that one of the doctors at an earlier NIH visit had treated me with radiation, which they said they do not use anymore. But don't worry, they said. (JUST TO BE CLEAR: Never had radiation treatments.)
That's all I remember. It wasn't all awful, though. I also won a pair of round-trip tickets anywhere in the USA at some town fair.
It was not limited to the continental U.S., and my top four choices were: Alaska, Hawaii, Puerto Rico or a U.S. territory in the Caribbean. It was so weird airline, like Scandinavian Air.
I was trying to decide if I should take the friend who encouraged me to play the carnival game where I won the tickets.
Apparently, I am not going to die because of the light-headedness; I am not so sure about the FA radiation treatment.
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dreams. Show all posts
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Monday, March 14, 2011
What do you make of this?
Last night I dreamed I was visiting the cemetery with my maternal grandfather.
He is dead. And he was dead in the dream, but he was very corporeal.
We split up for a moment and I found myself walking toward the middle of the cemetery holding a yellow Wiffle ball bat in one hand and something white in the other.
One of the top editors at the paper was there, only he was now a priest. I greeted him and he asked why I had the goofy yellow bat. I told him I needed it to see my brother's grave and motioned to where my infant brother's grave is. That made sense to him.
I kept looking for Granddaddy because I was ready to go, but he was cleaning the grounds and moving rocks off the graves.
I wandered over to his grave and that of his wife, and there were these loudmouths there. They said they really loved Gram, but they had parked their big boat of a sedan almost on top of her grave.
That is all I remember.
He is dead. And he was dead in the dream, but he was very corporeal.
We split up for a moment and I found myself walking toward the middle of the cemetery holding a yellow Wiffle ball bat in one hand and something white in the other.
One of the top editors at the paper was there, only he was now a priest. I greeted him and he asked why I had the goofy yellow bat. I told him I needed it to see my brother's grave and motioned to where my infant brother's grave is. That made sense to him.
I kept looking for Granddaddy because I was ready to go, but he was cleaning the grounds and moving rocks off the graves.
I wandered over to his grave and that of his wife, and there were these loudmouths there. They said they really loved Gram, but they had parked their big boat of a sedan almost on top of her grave.
That is all I remember.
Saturday, July 10, 2010
At least there was no elevator music
I had a few run-ins with elevators this past week but nothing unusual. I was, therefore, surprised when elevators popped up as a major plot device in my dreams last night.
In real life, an elevator started to close on me because my foot rest had just crossed the threshold but the doors didn't notice, and twice I found myself pushing the call button and rushing to the elevators only to have it shut in my face. One time I had to push the button three times before I made the elevator. But as I said, nothing unusual.
Apparently my subconscious had enough, though.
I had a dream with chapters that were tied to different rides on the elevator. Or non--rides.
In the first chapter, my brother's organization, which works with people in chairs, was meeting in my building, which had been made over to look like a big hotel. I was with him on floor 2 and a bunch of people in chairs were trying to get on the elevators but the doors kept closing too fast. Eventually, a security guard called in other guards to use security keys to hold the elevators open for the people in chairs. I remember leaning over to my brother and telling him we should have them do that all the time there are people with chairs.
In another I got off on the wrong floor and had to deal with the trauma of the elevator again. In a third, a friend was using a chair. She is one of the most non-disabled people I know, but there she was wheeling around.
The final chapter shows just how screwed up my dreams are.
I was in the back corner and this small person with what looked like a backpack got on. The doors did not shut tightly, so someone asked the person to move. He said he couldn't and we noticed the bundle on his back was stuck in the door. It turned out not to be a backpack but several layers of mothballs that were somehow lashed to his back. He shrugged off the bundle and came in, and I realized it was just a kid.
The woman in front of him somehow indicated he was her son, then she gave him a big kiss on the lips because, I guess, "THAT's how it is in their family..."
The mom then pointed out that her son smelled like mothballs, so as the door opened, another woman picked him up and shot him with the trick flower squirter she had on her lapel. The water came out like it was from a hose and it looked like the kid had gorilla fur.
Finally, she put the kid down. The mom asked if the woman covered the kid's eyes. The woman said no, and sorry to leave you hanging but that is all I remember.
But I am sure that is enough to analyze me to death.
In real life, an elevator started to close on me because my foot rest had just crossed the threshold but the doors didn't notice, and twice I found myself pushing the call button and rushing to the elevators only to have it shut in my face. One time I had to push the button three times before I made the elevator. But as I said, nothing unusual.
Apparently my subconscious had enough, though.
I had a dream with chapters that were tied to different rides on the elevator. Or non--rides.
In the first chapter, my brother's organization, which works with people in chairs, was meeting in my building, which had been made over to look like a big hotel. I was with him on floor 2 and a bunch of people in chairs were trying to get on the elevators but the doors kept closing too fast. Eventually, a security guard called in other guards to use security keys to hold the elevators open for the people in chairs. I remember leaning over to my brother and telling him we should have them do that all the time there are people with chairs.
In another I got off on the wrong floor and had to deal with the trauma of the elevator again. In a third, a friend was using a chair. She is one of the most non-disabled people I know, but there she was wheeling around.
The final chapter shows just how screwed up my dreams are.
I was in the back corner and this small person with what looked like a backpack got on. The doors did not shut tightly, so someone asked the person to move. He said he couldn't and we noticed the bundle on his back was stuck in the door. It turned out not to be a backpack but several layers of mothballs that were somehow lashed to his back. He shrugged off the bundle and came in, and I realized it was just a kid.
The woman in front of him somehow indicated he was her son, then she gave him a big kiss on the lips because, I guess, "THAT's how it is in their family..."
The mom then pointed out that her son smelled like mothballs, so as the door opened, another woman picked him up and shot him with the trick flower squirter she had on her lapel. The water came out like it was from a hose and it looked like the kid had gorilla fur.
Finally, she put the kid down. The mom asked if the woman covered the kid's eyes. The woman said no, and sorry to leave you hanging but that is all I remember.
But I am sure that is enough to analyze me to death.
Tuesday, August 25, 2009
My dreams are trying to kill me
If you really die when you die in your dream, does that mean that doing a really stupid thing in a dream is like suicide?
I dreamed I was in a Best Buy that for some reason sold outer clothes on the first floor. I knew I couldn't go up the stairs, though I wasn't in my chair. I was just kind of milling around when this guy put both of his hands on my shoulders and said something in a foreign accent. I didn't know what he said so I just looked at him and smiled.
As I was leaving, I saw him watching me and I remember thinking I should be careful. But before I was even out of the store, he walked up right behind me and said, "You better stay close." And he walked me out of the store.
I told him I'd give him my money, but he said he wanted my credit cards, too. I'll be honest: This pissed me off. I mean I'd be canceling the cards as soon he left so they'd be worthless. Even more annoying, though, if something did happen, it could screw up my credit report. I remember thinking snafus on my credit report would be OK because we have finally bought the land for our new home, but ...
The credit cards were the deal breaker. I started daring him to kill me, end my misery and put himself on death row (My dream self is not very liberal). He responded by knocking me out.
When I woke up, with my credit cards and cash, I called the cops. There were like 10 or so for a simple mugging. Two were talking to me, saying the guy might come back when sure enough he did. They caught him. I remember one of them chasing him down.
The moral of this story: My dream self is a badass who is not to be messed with.
Mom almost ruined this story by saying she never heard of dying from dying in your dreams, but I decided if Springsteen uses it, that is good enough for me.
I dreamed I was in a Best Buy that for some reason sold outer clothes on the first floor. I knew I couldn't go up the stairs, though I wasn't in my chair. I was just kind of milling around when this guy put both of his hands on my shoulders and said something in a foreign accent. I didn't know what he said so I just looked at him and smiled.
As I was leaving, I saw him watching me and I remember thinking I should be careful. But before I was even out of the store, he walked up right behind me and said, "You better stay close." And he walked me out of the store.
I told him I'd give him my money, but he said he wanted my credit cards, too. I'll be honest: This pissed me off. I mean I'd be canceling the cards as soon he left so they'd be worthless. Even more annoying, though, if something did happen, it could screw up my credit report. I remember thinking snafus on my credit report would be OK because we have finally bought the land for our new home, but ...
The credit cards were the deal breaker. I started daring him to kill me, end my misery and put himself on death row (My dream self is not very liberal). He responded by knocking me out.
When I woke up, with my credit cards and cash, I called the cops. There were like 10 or so for a simple mugging. Two were talking to me, saying the guy might come back when sure enough he did. They caught him. I remember one of them chasing him down.
The moral of this story: My dream self is a badass who is not to be messed with.
Mom almost ruined this story by saying she never heard of dying from dying in your dreams, but I decided if Springsteen uses it, that is good enough for me.
Sunday, July 26, 2009
Sweet dreams aren't made of doggie diarrhea
On Friday night, I dreamed I was Duke basketball coach Mike Krzyzewski and I seemed to be stocking shelves in a drugstore. This did not strike me as weird.
I was also saying goodbye to Makhtar Ndiaye, a former University of North Carolina basketball player. He was telling me of his plan to transfer to a military academy to finish school. Again, it did not strike me as odd that a player for the arch-rival Tar Heels was telling me, the Duke coach, he was transferring.
I then noticed something that did seem out of place -- a smell.
I woke up and realized Claren had had diarrhea. Not that I could see it but I knew it was there.
I called Mom on the phone and she came down and found the main one. I then found several smaller ones.
After Mom cleaned it up, I gave Claren a pill to settle her stomach and sat with Claren in the family room where she quickly had more issues passing the pill and more stuff for good measure.
Once again Mom cleaned it up and I sat back on the couch and dozed till 9 Saturday morning. About 10, Claren had another bout, this time with blood.
The wonderful people at VCA Herndon-Reston Animal Hospital scheduled us for an appointment at 2 on Saturday, the time they close, according to the website. We were there a good two hours as they did some X-rays and other stuff to try to find the source of the bleeding. In the end, there seemed to be nothing real bad, so we went home with orders for no food till today.
Oh and as soon as they brought Claren into the waiting room she had massive diarrhea on the floor there.
When we were leaving I apologized to one of the staff members for making them so late.
She brushed it off and said, We just want Claren to feel better.
Could you ask for a better vet?
Claren is better. I am still sleeping in the family room but we have been D-free for a little more than 24 hours. And she is so much more active.
I am going to the vet tomorrow for a quick recheck, but I am not too worried about having my dreams interrupted again.
I was also saying goodbye to Makhtar Ndiaye, a former University of North Carolina basketball player. He was telling me of his plan to transfer to a military academy to finish school. Again, it did not strike me as odd that a player for the arch-rival Tar Heels was telling me, the Duke coach, he was transferring.
I then noticed something that did seem out of place -- a smell.
I woke up and realized Claren had had diarrhea. Not that I could see it but I knew it was there.
I called Mom on the phone and she came down and found the main one. I then found several smaller ones.
After Mom cleaned it up, I gave Claren a pill to settle her stomach and sat with Claren in the family room where she quickly had more issues passing the pill and more stuff for good measure.
Once again Mom cleaned it up and I sat back on the couch and dozed till 9 Saturday morning. About 10, Claren had another bout, this time with blood.
The wonderful people at VCA Herndon-Reston Animal Hospital scheduled us for an appointment at 2 on Saturday, the time they close, according to the website. We were there a good two hours as they did some X-rays and other stuff to try to find the source of the bleeding. In the end, there seemed to be nothing real bad, so we went home with orders for no food till today.
Oh and as soon as they brought Claren into the waiting room she had massive diarrhea on the floor there.
When we were leaving I apologized to one of the staff members for making them so late.
She brushed it off and said, We just want Claren to feel better.
Could you ask for a better vet?
Claren is better. I am still sleeping in the family room but we have been D-free for a little more than 24 hours. And she is so much more active.
I am going to the vet tomorrow for a quick recheck, but I am not too worried about having my dreams interrupted again.
Thursday, April 9, 2009
All I have to do is dream
I dreamed last night that I was at my folks' home with everyone else from my family. No one was paying attention to me, which I found maddening, especially because I needed some laundry done. I can't do laundry at my folks'. The laundry room is inaccessible.
Accessibility was not the issue in my dream. I was living in my room upstairs. I remember taking a shower standing up and walking upright. But for some reason I felt I was being improperly neglected.
I am not embarrassed by that because dreams are weird.
Anyway, I was getting my clothes out of the dryer (someone had started doing them) when two family members started putting stuff from the washing machine to the dryer.
I yelled at them to stop and said, "Can't you let me do anything on my own?" Again, jerkiness is allowed in dreams.
Then I woke up and went a long way to convincing Dad and myself that I am not at all someone who should be living independently, let alone doing laundry.
I rolled out of bed but my foot slipped and I had to drag myself to my chair using the stripper pole. Then I had to re-situate myself several times to get the seat cushion underneath me. Then I struggled to lower the footrest. Finally, I was ready to get to the bathroom.
Then I started peeing.
I called to Dad and asked him to quickly bring me the urinal, which he did, and I used it. Then I headed to the bathroom where the door knocked the urinal off my lap. (A brief side note: I HATE DOORS.) Then I got in the shower and called out to Dad to bring me a dry wheelchair cushion and some soap.
I won't be doing laundry in the new house either; the laundry room is on the second floor.
Accessibility was not the issue in my dream. I was living in my room upstairs. I remember taking a shower standing up and walking upright. But for some reason I felt I was being improperly neglected.
I am not embarrassed by that because dreams are weird.
Anyway, I was getting my clothes out of the dryer (someone had started doing them) when two family members started putting stuff from the washing machine to the dryer.
I yelled at them to stop and said, "Can't you let me do anything on my own?" Again, jerkiness is allowed in dreams.
Then I woke up and went a long way to convincing Dad and myself that I am not at all someone who should be living independently, let alone doing laundry.
I rolled out of bed but my foot slipped and I had to drag myself to my chair using the stripper pole. Then I had to re-situate myself several times to get the seat cushion underneath me. Then I struggled to lower the footrest. Finally, I was ready to get to the bathroom.
Then I started peeing.
I called to Dad and asked him to quickly bring me the urinal, which he did, and I used it. Then I headed to the bathroom where the door knocked the urinal off my lap. (A brief side note: I HATE DOORS.) Then I got in the shower and called out to Dad to bring me a dry wheelchair cushion and some soap.
I won't be doing laundry in the new house either; the laundry room is on the second floor.
Saturday, October 11, 2008
I have some issues
Here was my dream from last night:
I was back at UVa, watching a softball game between work friends. I was in my chair and had Claren with me … sort of. It wasn't the living Claren but a taxidermied copy, kind of like Rowdy from Scrubs or if she had been the victim of the Impedimenta curse.
I was watching the game kind of surreptitiously from the outfield because I did not want people to think I had nothing better to do with my time than watch non-athletes play softball. It started to rain lightly, and there was a structure with a roof near home plate. Again, though, I was afraid people would think I was a loser if it became clear that my sole reason for being out near the field was watching them.
Instead, I wheeled past and went down the path to a bridge over Emmet Street. At least it was supposed to be a bridge over Emmet Street. Instead, the street was a huge river and was up above the bridge at some points. I turned around and went to another bridge and it was even worse. This other bridge had no railings or anything, just little lips on the sides. As I turned around again, a biker went past me without warning and zoomed over the bridge. I think I was going to head back to the game, but as I turned my two front wheels went up on one of the lips of the bridge. I had enough time to see two people on the bridge and shout "Help! Help!" And I had enough time to think I am buckled to my chair so I am going to die when it sinks. Then I started falling into the river. I remember nothing more.
Unfortunately, it is a fairly true representation of things. No, I have not drowned, but yes, I do feel odd taking too much of an interest in sports people play for fun. They can be interested because they are playing. I feel like some people would think I was odd to watch.
But I promise I won't have Claren stuffed.
I was back at UVa, watching a softball game between work friends. I was in my chair and had Claren with me … sort of. It wasn't the living Claren but a taxidermied copy, kind of like Rowdy from Scrubs or if she had been the victim of the Impedimenta curse.
I was watching the game kind of surreptitiously from the outfield because I did not want people to think I had nothing better to do with my time than watch non-athletes play softball. It started to rain lightly, and there was a structure with a roof near home plate. Again, though, I was afraid people would think I was a loser if it became clear that my sole reason for being out near the field was watching them.
Instead, I wheeled past and went down the path to a bridge over Emmet Street. At least it was supposed to be a bridge over Emmet Street. Instead, the street was a huge river and was up above the bridge at some points. I turned around and went to another bridge and it was even worse. This other bridge had no railings or anything, just little lips on the sides. As I turned around again, a biker went past me without warning and zoomed over the bridge. I think I was going to head back to the game, but as I turned my two front wheels went up on one of the lips of the bridge. I had enough time to see two people on the bridge and shout "Help! Help!" And I had enough time to think I am buckled to my chair so I am going to die when it sinks. Then I started falling into the river. I remember nothing more.
Unfortunately, it is a fairly true representation of things. No, I have not drowned, but yes, I do feel odd taking too much of an interest in sports people play for fun. They can be interested because they are playing. I feel like some people would think I was odd to watch.
But I promise I won't have Claren stuffed.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Even asleep, I am f---ng clever
Even Mom knows the phrase "get [the hell] out of Dodge," a reference to Dodge City, Kan. Gunsmoke's Matt Dillon was the lawman in Dodge and he used some version of the saying on bad guys.
I dreamed last night that we were on a family trip in the wheelchair-accessible Dodge Grand Caravan. We arrived at Busch Gardens and people were getting out. One of my nieces was not paying attention so my little sister said to her daughter: "K tell E to get the fuck out of the Dodge."
I don't know who was more shocked when I retold it this morning: Mom when I used the f-word or my little sister for retelling it in front of Mom.
I dreamed last night that we were on a family trip in the wheelchair-accessible Dodge Grand Caravan. We arrived at Busch Gardens and people were getting out. One of my nieces was not paying attention so my little sister said to her daughter: "K tell E to get the fuck out of the Dodge."
I don't know who was more shocked when I retold it this morning: Mom when I used the f-word or my little sister for retelling it in front of Mom.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
The secret life of Matthew Mitty
I am having kind of a Walter Mitty week.
Sort of. I just re-read the story to make sure I was correct in my comparison. And well, I am not hen-pecked nor a little misogynistic (although that might be Thurber not Mitty).
I am also not thinking of exciting and adventurous jobs necessarily, just new ones.
I decided I wanted to be an architect after meeting our home designer
Tuesday.
On Wednesday, I wanted to gain fame and acclaim as a world-renowned para-equestrian dressage rider.
I went to the aquarium Thursday with Mom, my little sister and her kids, and the trip brought rapid-fire job dreams.
At 11:31 a.m., I wanted to be a dolphin trainer. The dolphin show started at 11:30. Sure, they said you had to know how to swim, but it just looked so fun and cool that learning to swim might be worth it. And the dolphins totally reminded me of Claren. When the treats came out, they often seemed to just run through all the tricks in their repertoire to get the fish.
The best part was when the trainer dived in and was interacting with the dolphin and at the end the dolphin held her feet or something and swam ... fast. The trainer looked like the front end of a motor boat. And the end was cool, too. All the trainers were getting their dolphins to do random stuff. One trainer was doing the twist, and the dolphin started twisting.
But then we started looking at fish.
I have loved fish since I was a kid and my brother had guppies. I worked at a pet store growing up (well, I did after Mom walked into the pet store, which had a Help Wanted sign in the window but had just turned me down, and asked the owner why don't you hire my son?). I had at my peak about 100 gallons of aquarium water flowing in Mom and Dad's. That was cool. And I realized today that I could stare at fish all day. I could totally be an ichthyologist.
I like my job. I am not sure what all these second thoughts are about. And I don't know what to do about them. I mean Walter Mitty ends with him dreaming of facing a firing squad with no blindfold. I don't want to keep my job but wind up dreaming myself dead.
Sort of. I just re-read the story to make sure I was correct in my comparison. And well, I am not hen-pecked nor a little misogynistic (although that might be Thurber not Mitty).
I am also not thinking of exciting and adventurous jobs necessarily, just new ones.
I decided I wanted to be an architect after meeting our home designer
Tuesday.
On Wednesday, I wanted to gain fame and acclaim as a world-renowned para-equestrian dressage rider.
I went to the aquarium Thursday with Mom, my little sister and her kids, and the trip brought rapid-fire job dreams.
At 11:31 a.m., I wanted to be a dolphin trainer. The dolphin show started at 11:30. Sure, they said you had to know how to swim, but it just looked so fun and cool that learning to swim might be worth it. And the dolphins totally reminded me of Claren. When the treats came out, they often seemed to just run through all the tricks in their repertoire to get the fish.
The best part was when the trainer dived in and was interacting with the dolphin and at the end the dolphin held her feet or something and swam ... fast. The trainer looked like the front end of a motor boat. And the end was cool, too. All the trainers were getting their dolphins to do random stuff. One trainer was doing the twist, and the dolphin started twisting.
But then we started looking at fish.
I have loved fish since I was a kid and my brother had guppies. I worked at a pet store growing up (well, I did after Mom walked into the pet store, which had a Help Wanted sign in the window but had just turned me down, and asked the owner why don't you hire my son?). I had at my peak about 100 gallons of aquarium water flowing in Mom and Dad's. That was cool. And I realized today that I could stare at fish all day. I could totally be an ichthyologist.
I like my job. I am not sure what all these second thoughts are about. And I don't know what to do about them. I mean Walter Mitty ends with him dreaming of facing a firing squad with no blindfold. I don't want to keep my job but wind up dreaming myself dead.
Sunday, March 2, 2008
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?
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?
Wednesday, October 24, 2007
Driven to drink
I dreamed last night that I was at a cocktail party (that's how I knew it was as dream. I don't go to cocktail parties).
Anyway, I passed this couple who was talking about taking the car keys away from a father and how he would be happy because he would no longer have to deal with the stress of driving.
I wondered if I should talk to them, tell them that their dad won't feel relieved. He'll feel imprisoned. Unable to go anywhere unless he gets a ride, he'll feel dependent and child-like (and not the good kind of child-like with the wonder and whatnot). It'll just suck, I thought, but do not remember if I told them.
I think I was doing a little projecting on my own lack of driving. A friend was having a little happy hour get-together and if I could drive it would have been easier to go.
It was several blocks from the subway, and several caring people did not really think someone in a wheelchair should be walking in that area. I could have pointed out that I wouldn't be walking, I'd be rolling. HEE!
Plus, it rained all day and I didn't want to go for a stroll in the rain. Wet dog smell can't be real welcome in a bar.
Not that I was real sad. I really didn't want to go. It is so hard.
But I worry that if I don't do some things, people will stop asking me to and I will become homebound.
If I could drive, though, it would be so much easier.
And if I could drive, it would mean I didn't have Freidriech's fucking ataxia.
So this went on over night, and then I got on the ride to work, probably the worst one ever. Here is a copy of the complaint I sent, which I also sent to my elected officials:
Hi, I have reported several scheduling problems in the past regarding service, but today's was the worst. I was picked up on time about 7 for my regularly scheduled weekday trip from my home to my workplace half an hour away. We then drove half an hour in the opposite direction from where I was going to pick up another passenger. We then traveled even farther away from my destination to pick up a third passenger. About 8:15, we started to my destination. About 8:50, nearly two hours after I was picked up, we passed my home again on my way to my destination. I arrived at about 9:45, almost three hours after my trip started. My trip is a 30-minute commute. I expect it to be longer since you is a shared ride service, but not three hours. And while part of the lateness could be blamed on traffic conditions, my drop-off time was after 9, according to the manifest. In other words, you knew I'd be on the bus for two hours.
What was once good service has become increasingly shoddy as you cram more riders together, regardless of pickup times. On Tuesday, for instance, my driver had to make two pickups after mine that were within five minutes of my house. Great, you think. But not really, one of the other pickups was not until 8:15, so after being picked up at 7:25, and getting to the second pickup quickly. We waited.
I have had calls after past complaints saying you is looking into the problem, but the same scheduling problems continue. This is far from the "quality transportation services" mentioned in the customers' bill of rights. This just cannot continue. Please let me know what the issue is, why a 30-minute shared-ride trip is scheduled to take 2 hours, why we pick up clients who are nowhere near where I am going, or why we pick up clients who live near me but aren't scheduled for pickup until 45 minutes or an hour after me?
I still feel sick about my ride. I was two hours late to work and was all out of sorts pretty much all day.
My boss brings me hot water for tea every morning, and today was no different. I felt like asking him for something stronger than water.
Dad offered to drive me in tomorrow and Friday, but it is a long way for him and I would not ask him to do it regularly.
If only I could drive ...
Anyway, I passed this couple who was talking about taking the car keys away from a father and how he would be happy because he would no longer have to deal with the stress of driving.
I wondered if I should talk to them, tell them that their dad won't feel relieved. He'll feel imprisoned. Unable to go anywhere unless he gets a ride, he'll feel dependent and child-like (and not the good kind of child-like with the wonder and whatnot). It'll just suck, I thought, but do not remember if I told them.
I think I was doing a little projecting on my own lack of driving. A friend was having a little happy hour get-together and if I could drive it would have been easier to go.
It was several blocks from the subway, and several caring people did not really think someone in a wheelchair should be walking in that area. I could have pointed out that I wouldn't be walking, I'd be rolling. HEE!
Plus, it rained all day and I didn't want to go for a stroll in the rain. Wet dog smell can't be real welcome in a bar.
Not that I was real sad. I really didn't want to go. It is so hard.
But I worry that if I don't do some things, people will stop asking me to and I will become homebound.
If I could drive, though, it would be so much easier.
And if I could drive, it would mean I didn't have Freidriech's fucking ataxia.
So this went on over night, and then I got on the ride to work, probably the worst one ever. Here is a copy of the complaint I sent, which I also sent to my elected officials:
Hi, I have reported several scheduling problems in the past regarding service, but today's was the worst. I was picked up on time about 7 for my regularly scheduled weekday trip from my home to my workplace half an hour away. We then drove half an hour in the opposite direction from where I was going to pick up another passenger. We then traveled even farther away from my destination to pick up a third passenger. About 8:15, we started to my destination. About 8:50, nearly two hours after I was picked up, we passed my home again on my way to my destination. I arrived at about 9:45, almost three hours after my trip started. My trip is a 30-minute commute. I expect it to be longer since you is a shared ride service, but not three hours. And while part of the lateness could be blamed on traffic conditions, my drop-off time was after 9, according to the manifest. In other words, you knew I'd be on the bus for two hours.
What was once good service has become increasingly shoddy as you cram more riders together, regardless of pickup times. On Tuesday, for instance, my driver had to make two pickups after mine that were within five minutes of my house. Great, you think. But not really, one of the other pickups was not until 8:15, so after being picked up at 7:25, and getting to the second pickup quickly. We waited.
I have had calls after past complaints saying you is looking into the problem, but the same scheduling problems continue. This is far from the "quality transportation services" mentioned in the customers' bill of rights. This just cannot continue. Please let me know what the issue is, why a 30-minute shared-ride trip is scheduled to take 2 hours, why we pick up clients who are nowhere near where I am going, or why we pick up clients who live near me but aren't scheduled for pickup until 45 minutes or an hour after me?
I still feel sick about my ride. I was two hours late to work and was all out of sorts pretty much all day.
My boss brings me hot water for tea every morning, and today was no different. I felt like asking him for something stronger than water.
Dad offered to drive me in tomorrow and Friday, but it is a long way for him and I would not ask him to do it regularly.
If only I could drive ...
Tuesday, March 27, 2007
Every second of the night I live another life
I woke up this morning in the aforementioned puddle of sweat with an aching head, an exhausted body and some general dizziness. I chalked it up to allergies, a shift change at work and stress. As I was feeding Claren, though, I realized why I was tired: I had so many dreams last night. They kept pouring out of my head all day.
Since I was working late, I went back to bed and was no more awake when I woke up later. While I was in the shower, I realized my problem: I had forgotten to take my evil happy pills. I took them and was OK for most of the day but still exhausted.
Here are my dreams; tell me I don't have a right to be tired? The dreams are not in chronological order because I don't remember them flowing into one another. And I do not think this is all of them.
• There was a meeting with a PR person from Toyota, Nissan and I think Renault, one person each. The meeting was held at my grandmother's dining room table. I think the third automaker was Renault because the PR person was a red-headed woman with a French accent. She was not very good either. The Nissan guy was Arabic but some papers he gave us said he was Sudanese. The papers also said Sudanese was a religion and he believed in Jesus or Santa Claus, I can't remember which. The Toyota guy was generally a jerk and way confident. He was Caucasian. But I liked the little PR video he showed; it featured Spider-Man 3.
After the meeting we went back to work, of course in gram's living room. I was sitting on the floor in front of my boss, who was on a loveseat. He said the move to the living room was a temporary switch because of the PR meeting.
• I also dreamed I was back at my college newspaper. I don't remember much except they redecorated and took away my desk.
• Briefly, I dreamed of running over Claren's pinch collar and picking out clothes for work. I don't remember why but the clothes thing was real involved.
• I was in a choose your own adventure book, and I got to see both endings. It involved this grifter couple who weren't really bad, but they got mixed up with the wrong crowd and I was trying to save them. I was gritty and chiseled (maybe like Brad Pitt). I was also tied to a chair and a cop was interrogating me. The grifters were there and so was the really bad guy. I was forced to choose how to answer the cop's questions. If I answered them correctly, it suggested I was guilty of this bad thing they were doing. I wasn't. But if I was honest the real bad guy might stand up, shoot me, the cop and the grifters.
At first I chose to answer the questions correctly and that scenario ended with the cop shooting the bad guy right in the forehead. I triumphed the other way, too, but I forget how. Both times the story ended with the woman grifter killing her partner and leaving him slumped over the steering wheel in a car across the street from my parents.
• Finally, I dreamed Anna Kournikova lived below me when I worked in North Carolina. Why as ritzy tennis star would live in North Carolina, let alone Winston-Salem, let alone that apartment complex is beyond me. She also was not happy, just waiting for some nice journalist to come in and swoop her off her feet.
What does it say about my self-esteem that I don't even get the girl in my dreams? I followed the story online of how Anna found love with a freelancer who wrote about it.
I sort of want to skip my pills every so often now just for a thrill.
Since I was working late, I went back to bed and was no more awake when I woke up later. While I was in the shower, I realized my problem: I had forgotten to take my evil happy pills. I took them and was OK for most of the day but still exhausted.
Here are my dreams; tell me I don't have a right to be tired? The dreams are not in chronological order because I don't remember them flowing into one another. And I do not think this is all of them.
• There was a meeting with a PR person from Toyota, Nissan and I think Renault, one person each. The meeting was held at my grandmother's dining room table. I think the third automaker was Renault because the PR person was a red-headed woman with a French accent. She was not very good either. The Nissan guy was Arabic but some papers he gave us said he was Sudanese. The papers also said Sudanese was a religion and he believed in Jesus or Santa Claus, I can't remember which. The Toyota guy was generally a jerk and way confident. He was Caucasian. But I liked the little PR video he showed; it featured Spider-Man 3.
After the meeting we went back to work, of course in gram's living room. I was sitting on the floor in front of my boss, who was on a loveseat. He said the move to the living room was a temporary switch because of the PR meeting.
• I also dreamed I was back at my college newspaper. I don't remember much except they redecorated and took away my desk.
• Briefly, I dreamed of running over Claren's pinch collar and picking out clothes for work. I don't remember why but the clothes thing was real involved.
• I was in a choose your own adventure book, and I got to see both endings. It involved this grifter couple who weren't really bad, but they got mixed up with the wrong crowd and I was trying to save them. I was gritty and chiseled (maybe like Brad Pitt). I was also tied to a chair and a cop was interrogating me. The grifters were there and so was the really bad guy. I was forced to choose how to answer the cop's questions. If I answered them correctly, it suggested I was guilty of this bad thing they were doing. I wasn't. But if I was honest the real bad guy might stand up, shoot me, the cop and the grifters.
At first I chose to answer the questions correctly and that scenario ended with the cop shooting the bad guy right in the forehead. I triumphed the other way, too, but I forget how. Both times the story ended with the woman grifter killing her partner and leaving him slumped over the steering wheel in a car across the street from my parents.
• Finally, I dreamed Anna Kournikova lived below me when I worked in North Carolina. Why as ritzy tennis star would live in North Carolina, let alone Winston-Salem, let alone that apartment complex is beyond me. She also was not happy, just waiting for some nice journalist to come in and swoop her off her feet.
What does it say about my self-esteem that I don't even get the girl in my dreams? I followed the story online of how Anna found love with a freelancer who wrote about it.
I sort of want to skip my pills every so often now just for a thrill.
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