Last night I had a dream that Elton John tried to run off with my baby boy.
My wife and I were on a train with our son. I don’t know where we were going. We were just minding our own business.
Who came walking down the aisle of the train but Elton John! He stopped when you saw us and asked if he could hold the baby. We were like, “Sure! You’re friggin Elton John! Of course you can hold our kid!”
Elton made baby noises at our little boy. He seemed to be enjoying holding the little guy.
Then he just wandered off!
I followed him, calling out to him, asking where he was going.
Elton then slid a big door open, like the doors on freight cars, and he jumped out with the baby while the train was moving!
I, of course, jumped out too. I don’t care if you are Elton John. You aren’t getting away with my baby!
I caught up to Elton and he didn’t have the baby. He pointed under the train, which had stopped by then. There was my little boy lying on the black stones of the railway bed. I ran and picked him up.
Elton then started crying. He kept repeating, “Now I’m in trouble! Now I’m in trouble!”
I said, “Look, Elton, just forget about it. Let’s get back on the train before it starts rolling again.”
“Now I’m in trouble! Now I’m in trouble!”
Music began to play from within the train.
Elton: “Hey! They’re playing music in there!”
Me: “Come on, man! That’s the signal that the train’s about to leave!”
I began climbing into the train with my baby in one arm. But as dreams usually go, it wasn’t as simple as climbing back into the open door. I was climbing on metal bars like a jungle gym. The door to the train was many feet above me. I kept climbing and climbing, worrying that I wasn’t going to make it into the train before it started moving, worrying that I’d drop the baby, or that we would both fall. The climbing seemed to go on for a very long time.
I don’t know if we made it. I don’t know if Elton started climbing to get back on the train. The last I saw him he was lying next to the train bemoaning the fact that he was in trouble. All I know is Captain Fantastic didn’t get away with my boy. No, sir!
While preparing images for another gallery of migraine drawings, I came upon one that was inspired by a dream in which I got a migraine. When I woke up, I actually had a migraine going on. (It’s bizarre to open my eyes in the morning and find a migraine aura going on. That always freaks me out a bit when it happens.) As all but a few of my migraine drawings are contained in my journals, I was happy to find the story of the dream along with this drawing. The dream features my grandson, Jordyn, who was 10 at the time. I feel bad about being so mean to him in this dream! Read below. You’ll see what I mean.
Tuesday, April 16, 2013
I woke up with a migraine today. Here’s the story:
I woke at 6 AM when the alarm went off. I reset it for 7:00 and went back to sleep.
then I had a dream that I was in a grocery store with Jordyn. We needed to find something to make for dinner. While in the store, I started to have a migraine aura. I said to Jordyn, “We gotta hurry up, buddy. I’m getting one of my headaches.” Jordyn went off and I was walking around by myself. I was trying to find Jordyn, went down a few steps and noticed the right side of my vision was mostly gone.
I finally found Jordyn leaning over something. I said, “What are you doing?” He was startled and stood up. He had a bottle of honey in his hands. He was squeezing the honey into a barrely of water that had ham steaks in it. I yelled at him, “What are you doing! We have to get out of here! My head hurts!” I slapped him on the back and grabbed the honey.
Then my hands were all sticky! I was so angry! I put the honey on a shelf. Then I thought about how to get the honey off my hands. I looked around to make sure no one was looking. Then I rinsed my hands off in the barrel with the ham! Ha! Then I said, “Let’s get outta here!”
The alarm went off at 7… and I had an aura going on. It was on the right side of my vision, which is unusual. I usually have it on the left side.
There’s nothing worse than a migraine AND sticky hands! But I guess that’s what I get for being nasty to my own flesh and blood.
(This story is also posted on Doodlesam.com HERE.)
I am a teenager. I am paralyzed from the waist down. Getting around is difficult, but my spirits are good. I’ve become proficient in pulling myself along the ground with my arms and maneuvering my weight to slide down inclines. I am paralyzed, but not crippled.
On my last day in this condition, I am out with my Mom, my grandmother (Gram), and a friend of mine who always insists on helping me move about. The place where we are is crowded.
Waiting by an elevator with my friend, I notice stairs nearby. I want to take the stairs. But Mom said we must wait by the elevator while she gets my wheelchair. I am convinced that I can make it up the stairs using my arms and positioning my body against the wall as I do so.
“Mom, let me go up by the stairs. I can do it. I want to do it.”
Mom says, “There are too many people. And Gram is with us. It’s easier for her to take the elevator.”
I plead with my mom as more people join the crowd in front of the elevator. “Please, Mom. I can do it!”
A stern police officer in a uniform that looks like it’s from the 1950s accompanies a tall rough looking prisoner among the crowd. The prisoner is wearing an orange jumpsuit. He is a thug if I ever saw one.
While Mom is setting up my wheelchair, the thug is standing behind Gram. He pulls her close to himself then slides has calloused hand down her blouse and clutches her breast.
The cop pretends not to notice.
“Hey!” I yell, “Get your hands off my grandmother. Hey! Officer! Do something!”
The thug looks at me from the corner of his eye and grins.
The cop glances at the thug groping my grandmother, then turns and begins to whistle as if he saw nothing.
I try desperately to move over the help my grandmother. But I cannot get through the people.
Mom is still working on the wheelchair.
Finally, in a storm of curses, I make my way to a spot within reach of the thug and I smash him on the top of the head with all my might.
He in turn clobbers me square in the face with a mighty fist and I am knocked to the floor unconscious.
When I come to, most of the crowd has cleared. I jump to my feet yelling, “Where is that bastard! I’m gonna kill him!”
The thug and the cop are gone.
I realize that I am now whole again. I jump. I jump. I jump!
One year ago today, a kind man offered me a nice cold drink after I emerged from the woods covered in sweat and deer flies. The world might be a happier place if we all thought to give refreshment to the sweaty people.
(Originally posted on the website Continuum...) Ever feel like biting someone's head off? Have a few people on your scene who deserve to have their heads chewed off and spit out like a piece of rancid beef? Would you do it if you knew you could get away with it? Well... Until you come up with your plan for the Continue Reading →