Tomorrow I have to call the hospital at 10:30am to find out the exact time for my surgery. It will probably be early in the morning. That way I can go home in the evening. I have a dream about Thursday that I hold like a precious gem, and I'm afraid of telling anyone about it. Nobody will try to take it away, so I guess the analogy sucks. But some will chastise me for having it. It's a sad little dream, and it's not all that interesting. But I want it to happen, like winning the lottery or going to the prom with the prettiest girl in school. It's heartfelt, and honest, and says something about me. Dreams say a lot about a person, perhaps more than anything else.
On this little blog that few people read I feel compelled to reveal that I hope I never wake up after my surgery. That something goes wrong, something painless to me, and I just go to sleep forever. To be delivered from the loneliness, the worry, the sorrow, and the isolation that, by definition, we all exist within. It's not true that no man is an island. Every man is an island. We are all alone and I despise it. I don't get along well with the world, despite my efforts, because I can't become passive about that reality. I can't pretend that certain things are, or are not, there. I'm stunned at the absurdity, and the awful truth of how empty it is.
I know of a little game that makes me laugh a little, a game I play with one of my cats. I take a pistachio and pretend to throw it and she chases it as if I did. It's like she really sees it. She gets excited and frantically races around the room. I can do it again and again and again.
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