Obviously I made it home. The experience has remained with me, though. Now I understand how pilots crash planes. Reality changes when you have no reference points to gauge your speed. Dreams start to seem more real than real life.
On Wednesday I visited my naturopath, the maniacal fiend who masquerades as a doctor. He loves me, and not just for the check I write without complaint. He can try things on me that might make some squeamish. In my gullible ignorance I don't know when to say no. This time he dosed me with nux vomica (for the food poisoning, thanks a lot, Trader Joe). Then he took me to the closet, bade me lie on the (heated) bed, and stuck needles in my shins and my belly. He threw a thermal blanket over me, cranked up the heat, and let me cook for 20 minutes. Once I got used to the idea of having a needle in my stomach, I relaxed. Some part of me exited my body and drifted happily around in some alternate reality somewhere, until his knock on the door brought me back with an unpleasant thump. Bam.
After I visit the naturopath, I always feel compelled to take a nap before heading off to the career college for night classes. During my nap, I dreamed I was in Los Angeles, trying to find my apartment. I went to the apartment I used to live in, totally confused. Everything looked familiar, but weird, like it was ten years later. When I came out of the apartment, I couldn't find my car. Dude! After walking the streets for awhile, looking for my Ford Focus, I gave up and I enlisted my dad to drive me around West Hollywood in one of his big American cars. It was great to see him again, even though he didn't have much to say, as usual. My sister was in the back seat, helpfully steering the car whenever Dad wanted to lean out the window for a closer look down some palm-tree lined avenue. It was great fun tooling around in the smoggy sunshine, despite the fact that we never did find my car. Thanks for the ride, Dad.
When I woke up, I was disoriented. The room was hot. My brain was foggy. I wondered if that dream was a portent of the dementia to come. It doesn't seem so impossible to imagine a time when I drive to the store and can't find my way home. Or I park my car at the mall and forget where I parked it. How do you hold water in your hands? A GPS would be the trail of crumbs leading me home, but what if I don't recognize the place when I get there?
Welcome to my week. As I wait for word from the committee on the status of my dissertation concept paper, the cracks in my carefully built facade are becoming apparent. To fight off entropy and discontent, today I braved the rain and crowds to purchase a new toilet seat. Merry ho ho to me. (My car was waiting for me where I parked it.) When I got home, I installed the new seat and tested it out. We have lift off! Chalk up one for me, one small blow against disorder, chaos, and crumbling reality.
