Story and Notes: Dreamworld

October 25,2014

Ring Dreams

Dreamers

Can go in and out of dreams with something but what you take in you can’t take out

Left for someone else to take

Kept seeing a ring, over and over

Getting closer every time

Finally reach it and try to remove it from the tree branch, and unable to. If I brought a saw in I could cut down the beranch to get the ring.

There are other peope who can do the same thing, going in and out of dreams and bring things back

But there are people trapped in dreams who are unale to escape

Coma victims

I go in and help free people

Meet others who can help me free people

Can’t bring them back with me because they’re in their dreams, too

People trapped in their dreams, sometimes good, sometimes bad dreams

A good dream tastes like vanilla ice cream. A bad dream tastes like bacon, smells good and who doesn’t like bacon, but then you get caught in the dream and can’t get out

The ring saves me. I can talk to my ring

Can’t bring the ring back with me and so want to so I can have it for next time.

Refuse to come out of the dream until everyone’s freed

Body hospitalized, but vital signs, shows my mind EKG at work

Change currnt events?

Change the future?

Visit other peoples dreams

Description of dream, fuzzy around the edges, clear in the middle

Seeing people I know in my dreams

They are in a coma

People I don’t know and see them in the newspaper, have coma

Accident victims close to death see a light, opening to the dream world

Dreams affected by what we do in real life

Love art, immersed in art, drawing, painting, I can see the art in my dreams

I paint that art when I come out of my dreams

Stories are in there, and can write a story when I come out of my dream

Hearing screaming, wake up screaming

Am able to bring the ring out, but no one can see it, but I can feel it heavy on my hand, tightens and gets painful when near someomnhe stuck in dreams

I’ll come back for you.

Homeless  man sleeping on a bench. He’s not asleep, he in a coma
People in comas make up their entire lives from thigns they find, outfit a house, get  a college degree, buy a house, have children, and they want to stay

Happier there than in real life

Picture of their real life

If you touch someone on the other side who is in a coma, you can see their real life.

They don’t understand they can go back and be with real things and have real love and people in your life.

How many people in comas acreoss the country, around the world?

What causes a coma?

Injured in dreams, pain in that part of my body

Meet people who also have the ring

Meet together, try to break everyoune out of coma

Someone in coma for three years, haeadlines the next day

You go to see them and they look at you, don’t I know you? And you say a lot of peo[lpe say that because I look like a lot of people

He’s the one that can save everyone

He can  keep the door closed so no one can find pleasure on that side

They’re in comas so long becdause their lives are so hard, or they are hiding, scared. Poor in real life, rich in dreams

Opposite of your life

Go into dreams of famous people

Choose whose dreams you go into ?

Like astral projection. Is there an occult following about going into people’s dreams?

Steven king gets his ideas in dreams and brings them out.

Prolific writers, two years really creative, jasper johns, ernest hemingway, slplatter painter, heroes, tapped into a certain circuit.

Murdereers and thieves, the opposite, learn how to murder, who to murder. Courses about different ways to kill people.

Johann Brahms, flurry of creativity and then suddently stops. Every night they’re in dreams and get ideas

People who don’t sleep…

When you take naps

Nod off at a concert.

What causes dreams

Turn o and off lights.

Dreamed a better life http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-1230092/Rom-Houben-Patient-trapped-23-year-coma-conscious-along.html

Euthanasia for people in comas. Termination of life support.

People who died young http://www.forbes.com/sites/tompost/2011/12/19/30-under-30-greats-who-died-too-young/

Can do this when you come out of a coma, talent left to those who suffered

Saved by dream soldiers

Where do dreams come from

What causes bad dreams

Awake and find sand in bed, dirt

Sweating after running from something in dream

Visit hosp rooms of coma victims and tell nurse or whoever that he will come out o a coma in three days. It happens, but no on e can find the buy who told the nurse that. Goes into other places afgter dreaming of the person awakening. Visit nurse and tell her in a dream, or doctor, or parent.

Choose whose dreams you go into

Dream academy in real time?

Like x men gathered togethter to learn how to fight in dreams

Class schedule:

When you don’t want to stop dream

When you want to go bck to the same place in your dreams

when you want out of a dream,

Sweet dreams

Nightmares

Visions

Do animals dream, what they dream about

Sandman

Gods of dreams http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Morpheus_(mythology)

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oneiroihttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Oneiroi

http://www.godchecker.com/pantheon/native-american-mythology.php?deity=MANIT

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_night_deities

http://www.world-of-lucid-dreaming.com/precognitive-dreams.html

precognition

http://www.asdreams.org/telepathy/faq_paranormal.htm

http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/dreams quotes about dreams and dreaming

Chapter One

I had to take a saw into my dream to get the ring. I dreamt of the ring a dozen times and in every dream I am a little dloser to the ring, a gold ring with colored gems. But it’s on a tree branch so I know the only way to get the ring is to cut the branch. That night I took a wood saw to bed with me and during one dream I had the saw in my hand and was running to the tree but when I arrived, the ring had disappeared. Or so I thought.  I cut down the branch anyway and the ring appeared. I put it on my hand and everything around me started spinning. When I awoke, the saw wasn’t in the bed and the ring wasn’t on my finger.

It all started when I woke one night from a dream about playing by the sand at the seashore. And I felt sand between my toes. It took me a while until I figured out that I had been to the beach a few days ago and must have left some sand in my bed. But a few nights later I found dirt at the bottom of my bed under a sheet aftrer I’d dreamt of having a garden. Another time I thought my sister was playing tricks and when I got out of bed there was a squished tomato on the sheet, and on the back of my pjs. Another night I woke up from a dream and smelled a campfire. My pjs smelled like smoke, the kind that sits on you when you stand at an outdoor fire. In my dream

Wealth in the Wrong Hands

Best thing I can do is write.

I have incredibly vivid dreams in color these days. I didn’t dream in color until the last year. At least as far as I remember. If I had stayed closer in my walk with God, maybe I’d even have dreams about things to come, or the angels? Not now, but in the past 10 years since leaving the church I’ve had dreams that conveyed my feelings toward the church and the people: walls, unbelief, and rejection. I wasn’t always this way, but if I described how life was like before I decided against a walk with God, you would think I was mad.

Many  people these days are having visions and dreams, even near death experiences, and the description sounds so reasonable and right. The angel, the light, the people, the bigger light and being drawn into the light. Honestly, I see myself pulling away from the light, that’s how much my life has changed. In my dreams I always pull away or reject people from the church. I believe this determines your place in heaven, how you react to the presence of God in that light. I look at all that now and decide it’s impossible to revitalize a lifestyle that involved waiting on the Lord, reading the Word and the Lliving Word sermons, prophesying. I’ve cut myself off, both physically and spiritually.

That was something John Stevens would address with me when I was getting ministry, that a spirit of division was trying to cut me off from the church. I now think that same spirit is cutting me off from other humans altogether, at least to those with whom I might feel an obligation to act.

I abhor parties and people assembled in large groups for a particular purpose, like attending church. Yes, I’m friendly with everyone and, yes, I have a knack for conversation, but deep inside me I’m constantly crying out that I would prefer being alone. Oh, I’m okay at work because it is situational in that I’ve learned (not always smoothly) how to relate to customers and other colleagues. In any case, I get tongue tied talking to men, or carrying on more than a minute conversation, unless there is something  in common between us that provokes various topics. For example, yesterday I was intrigued in a conversation I was having with a male customer when I found out we had so much in common. We were recalling the day President Kennedy was shot and where we were, he in 7^th grade being told over the intercom and me in sixth grade watching Mrs. Sagabiel crying as she wrote the news on a chalkboard. I broke into tears, as many others in my class did, and he remembers doing the same. There were other things of which I cannot recall the topic, but I spoke with him so long that I had to pull myself away to go back to work, or as I say, “go back to looking like I’m working.”

I’ve been looking at my 2013 taxes and realizing I will probably owe close to $2 k in taxes this year, primarily because I haven’t had adequate taxes withdrawn with any investment disbursements I have had this year, about $ 5k worth, and a number of other things. But it’s incredible to me that with a $21k a year income I would still owe a tenth of that in taxes is downright absurd. There are wealthy people and corporations, with lawyers hired who study ways to keep the entity from paying  any taxes on millions of dollars of income. And then those same entities initiate programs – wars, imprisonment are two of the worst offenders – using my little bit of taxes, multiplied by 200 million people.

The US budget doesn’t balance and we’re ten billion in debt, primarily because the wealthy don’t pay taxes. It’s laughable if it weren’t such a personal issue. Anyone with a job is being having their salaries syphoned in order to support the very programs the wealthy employ.

How’s this for absurdity? There are 1.5 million Americans who have been receiving unemployment benefits, which are set to expire this weekend. Rep. Paul Ryan and others are vehement in their belief that such benefits actually discourage the worker from looking for a job. So there are that many people now left destitute because of a spokesman for the wealthy (is it any other way in federal government?) blaming payments to the jobless as the reason they can’t find jobs. But Mr. Ryan, there are no jobs to get. Companies with the highest profits in history are laying off people because they found they could make even more money with fewer employees, or have initiated robotic answers to human toil.

Mr. Ryan speaks from his pinnacle of power, blind to the sufferings caused by those who serve as guardians of the people’s interest, showing no empathy, despite the dozens and hundreds of stories in the press and all around us of people not being able to find jobs, unable to pay mortgage or rent on an apartment, unable to provide for their families…while the Senators and Representatives all draw $135k in annual salary. This is in spite of the huge gridlock facing both branches, and the lack of real action from President Obama.

These people are incapable of the kind of empathy that is desperately needed to begin turning this country and the corporations around. People without empathy show one of the key signs of being sociopaths. Here’s the official definitition: a person with a personality disorder manifesting itself in extreme antisocial attitudes and behavior and a lack of conscience.

At the same time funds are being pulled from the pockets of the poor and middle class, there are billions being spent on weapons to fight senseless wars. Okay, here’s one The total cost of the Trident program thus far came to $39.546 billion in 2011, with a cost of $70 million per missile. Every US submarine is loaded with at least 10 of these missiles, which has a main purpose of destroying the populations of countries who are unfavorable to those who govern the US. 

·       The United States Navy has a stockpile of around 3,500 Tomahawk cruise missiles of all variants, with a combined worth of approximately US $2.6 billion. According to Wikipedia, the US used 74 of these warheads in their pursuit of enemy forces in Iraq.

Here’s another heartbreak statistic regarding the incarceration rate in the US. Of all the developed countries, this has the highest number of prisoners per capita than any other. Many prisons are privately owned by companies that lobbied for the three strikes law in effect in several states. After the third federal crime, prisoners are required to serve a 20 year sentence.  Latest statistic is that it costs $32,000 a year to house those inmates. Some criminals are purposefully committing crimes so they can return to the prison where they have a place live and food to eat.

Contrast that with what is spent in California for each student: $7000 a year. Doesn’t it make more sense to put that money going into prisons into an educational system that teaches social values that would keep people out of prisons?

There’s nothing your or I can do about this because the decisions are made by wealthy corporations interested in making more money. Yes, residents have voted in the three strikes law, but as I mentioned earlier those laws are promoted by the very groups that will benefit from expanded populations.

All this to say I want to cheat on my taxes. I don’t want to pay the government $2,000 when the money is used in these ways, which are only a couple of the malfeasance issues facing the United States. Why should I have to pay that money, when the rich get by tax free or, at most, a 15 percent tax rate, compared to my 25. The IRS might find out about this, but not this year and probably not next, but I would always live with the thought that I could get nailed and not only owe that money, but pay interest on it from the time it was due. The IRS tends to review tax returns listing little money, rather than corporations that have created a tidal wave of paperwork, compared to the two page tax return that I provide. I’m seriously considering not reporting my investment withdrawals, or reporting only enough that I don’t owe anything or only a little . Last year I was expecting my withdrawals to wash with my medical expenses, but this did not happen, and I still owed money. I withdrew $4k untaxed but payed $4k for hearing aids, which were taxed.

The only other response would be to pay the money, but in such small increments that the state and feds don’t get it for months and months. A payment plan can be established so you still owe the money, but you can pay it off in increments. Doesn’t it seem unfair about all this, with the way the government is spending money using funds eked from citizens like me. It is truly maddening, but there is nothing you or I can do to change any of this. It’s disgusting.

I could claim more dependents, report less income, put my tax status as 3 instead of 1 (this is primarily each taxpayer’s decision for more or less money taken from the paycheck.) I am seriously going to do some research on Google: how to cheat on your taxes. Having that in the search box might be a red flag, though, do you think. Better yet, how to pay less taxes…a little less noticeable.

Reasons I left Warwicks

July 21, 2014

Ten minutes on each side in the backyard, thankfully on a padded deck lounge, facing the sun. Oh, and a towel. Say to have enough sun until it starts to hurt just a little so you get enough  Vit D, so I go out every few days or when I feel like I need to lie in the sun. I wish I’d been more careful when I was younger, especially from keeping the sun off the left side of my face when I drove across country. That is the worse skin damage. 

A skin specialist friend said to get rid of the magnified mirror and use a softer light in the bathroom so I don’t get worried every day about how I look. People just don’t look at you close enough that they would notice the skin peeling off the left top side of my forehead, or the rough skin that goes down my left temple, or the wrinkled skin and sun spots on my left arm, which I rested against the window and door. 

I have lots of little ailments but I’m hoping that will all clear up after I leave Warwicks. I have two days left, Wednesday and Saturday. Then every day is free.  There are a couple of things I will miss at the store. I won’t see Phoebe as much, and I won’t be able to recommend books I’ve read and loved. But other than that I am stoked that I’m retiring. I guess when I was 30 stoked meant really happy. God knows now. 

I will feel so relieved when I clock out for the day on Saturday. I could list at least 25 things I won’t miss when I stop working.

Having to make my lunch every morning

Hurrying to get to work, walking to make sure I’m not late

Clocking in, out, in, out, in out, in out

Having to deal with anyone’s attitude, customers especially

Having to be nice to staff when there are two people you ha

Memoing books (borrow from the store), and saying nice things about it even when it sucked.

The 30percent discount, which I seldom used (I will sort of miss that. What can I buy this week for half off? Sure they’d give me that, at least)

Merry Christmas greeting

Happy New year greeting

Good morning, afternoon greeting

Making other staff mad about whatever

Retrieving shopping bags from the outside closet

Retrieving receipt tapes for the register

Answering the phone

Trying to hear people on the phone and having to give it to someone else because I can’t hear them or understand their words

Getting heat from different staff for just that

Making mistakes

Charging too much/not enough for items

Making up pen and pencil prices when not clearly listed on our cheat sheet.

Having to wait for 11:15, 1:30, and 3:45 breaks to eat

Getting really hungry and nothing to eat at 5 pm

Eating chocolate (bad day? Chocolate; mad, chocolate)

Being around all those books and only reading the front covers and maybe The inside jacket

Being tempted to steal money out of the cash drawer (I never did, but wanted to several times – see “compulsion, above)

Making calls to tell customers their special orders are in

Making second calls to tell customers same

Making third calls, same

Pulling books marked for one week, been up there a month, and then the customer gets mad and John says, I don’t know why you take down any books, honestly, and knowing that if I didn’t there would be no room on the shelves, and not being quick enough with a snide response

Adrian and her running a personal business out of her office

Adrian saying how much more she’ll be out on the floor now that Lydia is doing all the crap work (time cards, schedule, being nice to us) and some days not even know if she’s in the store until 5 pm when she has a call

Being excited about Adrian’s Christmas presents of lemon tasting olive oil, a cookbook that she got free from the book rep, the coffee cup with J on the side (which I have used for three years and will throw away when I leave)

Fucking up on the register like, four times in as many minutes

Being left out of conversations and then ridiculed because I didn’t know something they had been talking about in the pod for weeks “where have you been??” because I 1) couldn’t hear them and 2) getting tired or rebuffed to come into a conversation and asking what they are talking about

Wearing my hearing aids every time I’m in the store

Forgetting my hearing aids at home and getting grief for that

Seeing how stupid, dumb, careless, or uncaring and unfriendly fellow staff members, who don’t smile at customers, run their purchases and then turn back to talk to someone behind the counter

Having to be the only one on the floor telling people about books when there are three or four people behind the counter talking with one another

Being around a lot of people

Need I go on? This is definitely the cons outweigh the pros. Julie said when it’s no fun anymore, time to go. But the only reason I stayed on as long as I did is because I got insurance, which cost $400 from my paycheck every month. But then there was the affordable care act, and now I’m paying $57 a month for Kaiser. I’m getting social security ($1,450) on the second Wednesday of the month and $500 from investments every month (I have 250k in my retirement account. 

Fear of Losing Control

July 20, 2014

Why, when I feel it’s such a futile exercise am I driven to write? It’s so much in my blood and soul that it’ unbearable not to write. I know there will be no future readers. I know all my journals will be piles of ashes within weeks of my passing. No one will care what I wrote.

But I must write. I can’t help myself.

Winston Churchill said it was only when he was writing that he didn’t feel the presence of the black dog, his description of depression. I would hope writing would comfort me in this way as a borough into these pages, looking for solace as the words appear on this page. I want to hide behind the words and peek around the corners, but there is no hiding from this life.

I have so seriously thought about death that I’ve compiled a list, in my head, of the pros and cons of life versus death. I haven’t written those down, and probably never will, for your sake, but I often wonder if all this is worth the trouble? I want to live a long time so I can acquire as much of my Social Security payments as possible, and leave Dan and Rachel with an abundant inheritance.

But I’ve thought of many other ways to use the money. I will be getting $1,450 a month, that will go into my US Bank account. I will also be drawing $450 each month to my credit union bank account.

I would love to give my money to worthy causes. I feel such a relief to be helping someone else through their suffering or worries. I knew this couple and toddler were well prepared for their dinner, and could have paid it or they wouldn’t have come. But my heart went out to them, saw how darling it was that their daughter couldn’t decide who to sit next to for dinner, so was climbing over their laps, walking to the other side of the table, and climbing up again. The mother was quite plain looking, long brown hair recently curled and a pleasant smile. Her husband stood out for his red hair and striking blue eyes, although he wasn’t particularly handsome, but his coloring was appealing.

Steven Bell was a friend of mine in San Mateo when I was in fourth grade, and midyear his father decided they would move to Alaska. I never saw him again. But my memories of his red hair, blue eyes and extremely freckled skin became something I admired, as I had  befriended Steven. Whether it was nostalgia or the desire to lead a r different life….perhaps both of them. I threw a dart at Steven and it hit his neck while he was pulling out darts and he wheeled around to yell “Why did you do that?” At the time I just said I felt like it, which I ‘m sure didn’t endear him to me. I have thought of him often over the years, wondering where he is and how his life is proceeding, how much his coloring has changed, whether he has a family, what his children look like.

The response I had to Steven’s anger has bothered me for much of my lifetime. The fact that “I felt like it” is a horribly misguided thought that portends to irrational control. I recall a news article where a boy was asked why he had pushed his brother, causing him to fall over the side of the boat, get caught in the current, and drowned. I imagi ne he thought it would be funny, without thinking of the horrid consequences. When his brother went overboard, to catch himself he grabbed at another boy, also standing. Both died, while the younger brother was now left to tend the current, screaming at what had happened, in shock that everything changed so suddenly. Just that little push, where he thought it would be funny, ended up in the deaths of his brother and best friend.

That is a scary thought that haunts me. I have had impulsive thoughts. I stay as far away from cliffs as I can, or any high places, balconies in hotels, views from restaurants, when I am accompanied. I’m afraid I would have destructive desires. When I can’t control myself is when I fear for my life. I gambled for over a year, spending at least $30,000 in retirement savings, and having nothing to show for it other than haunting regrets over my addiction, led by compulsions that I thought were uncontrollable. Even today I would get in my car and drive to a casino just to feel the surge of adrenaline in anticipation of winning jackpots.  I was addicted to that flood of overwhelming adrenaline, which required me to spend even more money and take more chances every time I would go.

Several years ago I gave two casinos paperwork to bar me from entering. Even with that request, a letter came a month later asking if the barring of my presence was permanent. I fretted over this, and still do, realizing that I’d cut myself off from an entertainment that made me forget everything else. In front of the slot machine, sometimes running two at once, I didn’t think about my worries, my job, my relationships or, for that matter, my savings. My delight was too great.

Story: Misty Remembers

June 8, 2014

I woke up this morning with nothing to get me out of bed. A mile walk before breakfast sounded grueling. I finally did it anyway. I debated going to church, Metropolitan Community Church or Coast Vineyard and neither one was attractive, given all the people in either setting that I would either have to actually interact with anyone, especially strangers.

I dread going out today. It’s Sunday and I know I should feel much differently – I’m 62 and don’t want to be around crowds of people – I’m much too young to become a recluse. I told a friend of mine long ago that if I weren’t involved with the church I would be a recluse, and that seems to be what has happened.

I have no friends. Poor me. But really, I can’t think of anyone to call to ask to go to the movies. I don’t like going by myself, but I have no choice.  I try to converse with fellow movie-goers afterwards and no one really wants to engage in a talk about the movie’s pros and cons. Sure, I could call my sister, who really is on a different path, being much more sociable, well liked, and funny than I. Then there’s me, who avoids people as much as possible.

I’m sitting in my bedroom typing this thiking maybe I could pull writring over my head and hide. Chruchill said that unless he wrote he would be haunted by the black dog, depression, and his only recourse was to type, and he wrote a dozen books, he was so desparate to stay away from that creature. After the blackouts, he kept his windows covered. I’m not sure what this signifies, but it does sound a little creepy.

I can’t say I don’t have friends. I love my housemate, as a brother, and we share many interests. Walking, traveling, disagreeing about politics are not among those interests. We lost our beloved corgis when Misty died two months ago and Penny a year prior. I’m dying to have another dog. I want to pet it and take it for walks and play with it and maybe it would get a ball when I threw it, and people would ooh over the multi-colored coat, taking the focus of me and onto something a stranger and I would have in common right off, a love for dogs.

I never felt like this before until we acquired our corgis, who were with us for 7 years, or more, but I lost count. Every time I see a dog I want to get down on my knees and give it a hug. The cute white mutt that Crystal takes around the block, I want to pick it up and take it inside, and talk to it, and give it a snack, and let it lie next to me in bed for my nap, and then get up for another walk when I take Katie back to her owner.

I used to talk with Misty when I would hold her, and only bopped her on the nose once but she thought I was playing then, even though I was angry with her. She came into my bedroom and would sit next to my chair looking up at me with this endearing smile, and I would turn and give her a good pet, behind the ears, all over her coat, and tell her that I had things to do and that I would regret not being with her more. She would then get inside the closet doors, lie on a cushion, and watch me work.

How I would give her that opportunity now. She was beautiful to the end and I fight thinking about her dying in our living room. I thought she was barking because she wanted snacks and so I would oblige, not realizing that she was calling me to her side. I’m not feeling well, Daddy. I don’t know why I feel this way, but could you come over and comfort me somehow. I’m eating the treats because you’re giving them to me because maybe you know how I feel, so I eat the treats hoping that how tired and confused I am would pull me out of the hole I seem to be falling in .

I started coughing and then wretching and I knew something was very wrong. I started spitting up the treats you gave me. I guess that’s not what I needed after all, but I thought you were giving them to me so I’d feel better and now I feel worse. I kept coughing up what was in my stomach and started choking on the stuff. I’ll get up and go out the doggie door so there won’t be a mess, but I collapse inches from the little door. I don’t want to make a mess inside, but now I can’t get up, but I’m still coughing. Yes, Daddy, come down and talk with me. Pet me behind the ears, although I don’t think that’s going to change how I feel.

I’m getting weaker, but I stop coughing and Daddy puts a towel under my head at some point and I’m panting. Why do I feel this way? What is happening to me? Daddy carries me, my head covered with my coughed up treats, and I’m so limp I can’t stay in his hands and I slip out of his hands onto the ground so Daddy picks me up again and puts me on my favorite blanket, in my favorite place, which is being a passenger as he drives. Maybe now I’ll feel better. I can’t even think. When I do it passes through my mind quickly. I wasn’t like this before. I can tell I’m being carried, wrapped in my favorite blanket, and I’m in the vet’s office. Oh, please, Dr. Lindsay, make me feel better like all the other times I  visited and you gave me medicine or a shot and I would walk better, and even play, but I didn’t want to get up on high places, like a bed, or being held long.

I’m being laid on the floor still in my favorite blanket and my breathing is very shallow, but I want  to breathe deeper and I want to stand up and I want to feel the pull of my leash because it’s time to go outside. I want to be free to run around in people yard and get Daddy so upset with me that he uses a loud voice. I’ll go behind this bush and find things to eat, like poop that is so much more tastey than the dry dog food I get, which you can’t understand.  Tke me in the car for a walk along the grass overlooking the beach, but don’;t  let me get close to the big dogs. If I stay closer to the trash can I’ll be up where there dogs aren’t walking around. I don’t mind smelling and being smelled, that’s what dogs do, but that’s enough, and you pick me up and I feel so much safer.

I know you liked to lie on the grass and enjoy the sound of the waves, but really, I’m not into that at all, so I set next to your leg. Then get up and sit harder on young leg. Then I say this is ridiculous so I sit on your head, which finally gets you up off the grass and walking again. You really should have learned by now that I’m walking you, because I know you like the exercise. But then you stop and talk with a neighbor and I sit up watching, but then walk a few more feet towards the house and sit down waiting for you. I do that again and again, until I’ almost half a block away. Alrighght here you come, finally, and I stand and whip around and start running for the house and you’re calling me to stop but I’m not having any of that.

I don’t care if you scold me when we get home. We’re home and that’s what matters. Now I get to sit in your lap and oh, 20 seconds, get down and run out the doggie door onto the porch, wanting you to come out with me and you run around a chair and pretetend I’,m hiding and then you run around and grab me and pet me roughly. Do it again. And again. Please. Okay, five minutes is enough it’s time to go back inside, so side. Panhbeef chew or one of those really hard things to eat that I have to chew much too long and get so little satisfaction from it. I go to find you and want you to look at me but you and grandma are busying watching tv so I go in my corner and fall asleep. Finally you turn off the tv and are careful not to make noise and wake me up, but I’ll click click down the hall before you’re asleep. I’ll go in my favorite sleeping area between grandma’s dresser and the bathroom, so every night she has to look for me so she doesn’t step on me. But that’s only one of the dozen places I go to sleep that night.

Need some water. Gotta pee. Walk around, sleep. Need some water, got to pee and I know grandma will know I’ve gone outside because the flapping doggie door wakes her up and she’s listening for me to come back in. But sometimes I like going down the dirt path, especially when the moon is bright. Sometimes I’ll sit on the patio so long that grandma gets up to see if I’m okay and I wish she would come outside with me and see the moon and the stars, but grandma pulls my collar gently to get me back inside, and she goes back to bed. So I sit in your doorway and then lie down and sleep since you’re not getting up, and go back to sleep and then I’m thirsty again.

I can hear a lot of movement around me in the morning, but please, I’m not a morning person. Sometimes I’ll sleep until 10 oclock and when I get a little hunry IU’ll get up and you’ll hear me coming down the hall. Time for a walk, but you’re not there. Grandma isn’t there either, but my bowl of food is full and my waterdish is fresh, so I sniff, drink,  and then go out the back door where I sit on the patio. I get really hot so I move and it’s still hot, so I go back inside to sleep in the cool closet in your room, which lasts until I hear something outside and have to bark it away.

That worked and I hear a key in the doorway. Someone’s home and I’m so happy I’m jumping up and down. You say hello to me and get down on the floor to pet me and I’m so happy you’re home. Pick me up, sit in the couch with me, hold me close and talk to me. You’re home. I’m so happy, but then grandma calls you and you sit at the table. You don’t give me anything from the table for years until one night you give me pizza crust that is so yummy I want more. If not tonight, maybe tomorrow night you’ll have something else for me. I like licking off your plates. Nummm. I hear you say that they don’t need to be washed now and grandma says, yes they do, but they’re so clean we could just put them back in the cupbard like this and then you both laugh. I love to hear you laugh. It makes me laugh, but not like Penny. She laughed with a huff huff huff for years until  you realied she was laughinhing. She was so happy when you could laugh with her.  Time for our walk after dinner and onto a repeat of last night.

I want to do all that again, but I’m lying on my favorite blanket on the floor of Dr. Lindsay’s office. Someone asks if you want me to be picked up and put on the table and you say no because you’re on the floor with me, but you forget about grandma can’t bend down on the floor like you can. I want to see grandma. Maybe she’ll make me feel better, but I’m still on the floor and the doctor is feeling around my leg. I feel a shot and there’s a warmth going through me. I finally feel better.

Well, that was a weeper. Put on my sunglasses, walked to the farmers Market and bought a curry dish for me and a stir fry for Moreen. By the time I got back my eyes weren’t red any longer. We’re waiting to watch the Tony Awards. Get to see snippets of the plays in NY we’ll never see.

June 9, 2014.

Moreen and I talked about me getting another dog last night. I want it to be my responsiblitiy and expense. So expnsive with the vet we had, and so far to drive. I’ll use a vet closer to home, cheaper food, cheaper treats.

As you can see from the above