Double Flee A

On the way to Las Vegas last month, we had a flight delay. Chicago was snowed in and we had to wait a day to leave. That was, um, crappy. On the way to the bar (quickly please), I remembered there were five steps to the grieving process: Numbness, Denial and Isolation, Anger, Depression, and Acceptance. Knowing that these are the five phases, I hoped, would short-circuit the process and take me straight to the Acceptance bit, but that's not how it works. Instead it just adds another phase to the coping cycle: New-age philosophy derangement, or, Confusion.

The field of psychiatry has brought us no closer to a quick and useful tool for personal empowerment, which you'd think would be the goal. What it has brought us is a nomenclature that enables caregivers to be total smartasses who are always right.

I had a dream that I had a liver transplant. My girlfriend was one of the nurses. They cut me open like a grape. I had this gash down my right side, looked like a hot dog that'd been in the microwave too long. I kept trying to get her over there to talk and hang out with me but she had to work. I was on drugs in the dream too. Ever have those? Where everything goes woozy? Why can't dreams be lucid all the time and involve what you want them to, like the Olsen twins in catsuits, maybe throw in a little flying, anything but a f-in' liver transplant. Maybe a little drugged-ness is built into people. I spend my work day at a high alertness level, so maybe because only in my dreams can I get my substance fix, I have these sleepy dreams with smeared colors and sounds like the inside of a closet.

posted by dale @ 10:35 AM