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It embarrasses me and I feel a little ashamed about my nightmares of getting lost and unable to find my way out of these huge industrial complexes that I used to help build for a living. I had started outside of this large assembly building when I saw the large sliding doors close, and I knew immediately that I was in another of those disheartening situations.
I finally found my way outside of the building and then I couldn't find my car. The various parking lots were at least a mile apart. and I walked and walked in complete desperation. Several times I realized in real time that I was dreaming, and I even asked myself, "You're dreaming. You can fly when you're dreaming. Just will yourself up into the air and escape. I didn't do it.
At some point during the sad dream, this young guy drove up behind me in what looked like a golf cart, and as I turned and recognized him as somebody I knew, I asked, "Will you help me find my car?" He smiled, and said, "Sure, hop in." We drove and drove from parking lot to parking lot, but never found my parked car. Eventually, he was in the back seat of the cart with some honey, and I was driving relentlessly looking for "my car", but I didn't know what my car looked like.
I know. I know. I just wrote about this young nurse-type woman coming up to me yesterday and asking me, "Sir, do you need some help?" The probably unconscious motivation the young woman had probably came to her from the dreamtime. My dreamtime. Life is really strange.
Part of my attitude both yesterday and before came from the realization that I was going to have to start taking the methotrexate again. I'm not going to describe what's happening to the bones around my hands, wrists. and elbows, but I've already started missing days of playing the scales on my digital piano. I wrote blog entries for the days I didn't post, but I didn't publish them online.
I kinda feel like a prisoner in my own house. My sister-in-law has a younger brother who also has RA and was injecting himself with Humira, the prescription drug I refused to take. He got a cyst in his throat that got infected, and since the Humira drastically lowers the immune system's ability to fight off infections, he already had fourth stage throat cancer by the time he went to the doctor with it.
He needed some help, so she moved him into their old house next door with the expectation that I would help take care of him, because after all, here I am right next door, why would I not be happy to pitch in and help. Her oldest brother tried to trick me into doing what he didn't wanna do. I got angry and took steps.
It's not like these people have any respect for me or my family, and my own situation. The brothers have always been dismissive and snotty, and now I'm supposed to be grateful to help him die easier. They shoulda took notice of my past. I can be deliberately and infuriatingly unkind. Like the gods act toward me.
The ocean has become a plastic soup. Nothing can live in it any more and it's only getting worse. Like the deserted Mayan villages with all their magnificent ruins, Earth will soon look like Mars. We've shit in our own backyard and then our neighbors. The scientists are already looking for another planet for life to live on, but the chances are no matter how young you are, you will probably die within moments of when I do. Sayanara, mofo! It's time to go build another nest. LOL
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I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
