Potpourri

Don't know what it is, maybe I have a deep-seated, but hidden self-hatred. But even as I shook the cold/flu/whatever, I traded it for other ailments. Kelly and I were horsing around the other night, and she accidentally kneed me in the jaw. Now I have TMJ-like pain in my right mandible, but only when chewing tougher foods. Never had that before.

Then we took Kelly to her swimming class Saturday, and afterwards she wanted me to help her get back into her 'street' clothes. I was trying to close the stall door of the changing area, and slipped against the metal latch, gouging a chunk of flesh out of my finger. It bled a lot, filling two bandaids before slowing down. I kept it covered all Saturday and let it air out Sunday. I'm able to type today, so the finger is functional. No stitches or anything like that.

[in the voice of Rodney Dangerfield] "I don't get no respect! No respect at all!" I was sitting at the computer in the kitchen, my single mangled finger pointing straight up, as I labored under the misapprehension that if I got the finger higher than my heart, it would slow the bleeding, and I wouldn't have to change the bandaid so quickly. Jean walked into the kitchen, saw me sitting, reading Photo.net with my arm casually crooked, and my index finger pointing to the ceiling, and began to sing: 'This little light of mine, I'm gonna let it shine!'

Kelly was out of school Thursday and Friday last week with a fever, but was feeling much better by Friday afternoon. Hence we let her go to swimming class on Saturday. Her brain continues to explode, as she is comfortably (and correctly) using words like 'aggressive' when describing bears in her dreams.

Speaking of dreams, I had one this Saturday morning. It's unremarkable except in it's intersection with the waking world. I dreamt I was in a mall. I was in a camera store, pricing the film. Then I was walking down the corridor, saw a newstand, where a mother was teaching her son to use the cash register. I walked up, saw some candy on the counter, and took a couple. I was walking away when I realized I hadn't paid for it. Oops! So I went back, and the mother said "I'm sorry, I was busy teaching my son to use the register."

"That's okay," I said, "I'm sleepwalking." Just then some of the syrup from the candy went down my windpipe and I began to choke. At that instant, I woke up, coughing strongly. Sinus drainage had clogged my lungs. So how does my brain perform these dovetails of dreams and reality? When I related this dream to Jean, her only comment was "that's not a very interesting dream. At least you could have been flying around the camera store."