My World of Parkinsonian Delights

Ah, Sunday! What a Morning for Sissy, Girly Coffee Drinks and Bizarre Dreams About Dead Relatives!

OK, so I’m in New York City, wearing a tux and looking good!  I’m going to receive a Tony Award for best Broadway radio program.  And I get a call from my mom telling me that I can’t go to the Tony’s because I need to drive to northern Minnesota and deliver some sort of court document to my dead twin brother’s father-in-law (who, in reality, never existed).

Naturally, I am more than a little put off by this turn of events.  I was gonna win a freakin’ TONY AWARD for Chrissakes!  Then my dad, who has been dead since 1983, gets on the phone and tells me that Bob, who has been dead since 2004, can accept the award FOR me.  And sure as heck, there’s Bob.  He’s also wearing a tux.

So, we walk towards Radio City Music Hall, stopping along the way for some dinner.  I ask Bob why he can’t deliver this sort of thing to his father-in-law since HE was his son-in-law.  Bob suggests that he never got along with the old guy (who, in reality, never existed) and it would be better for the family if I delivered the document.  That’s when I get a phone call from Cindi, who has been dead since November, telling me that Bob is right and that I’m much the better diplomat where these sorts of things are concerned.  She put my Grandma on the phone (she’s been dead since 1988) and Granny agreed that I was the man for the job.

So, what’s a boy to do?  My entire family wants me to take this document to my dead twin brother’s father-in-law (who, in reality, never existed) to some small dot on a map in Northern Minnesota.  I agree to do so, and Bob and I head back out onto the street.

I get in my car (how I found a parking space in Manhattan — I’d need a whole ‘nother dream to figure THAT one out) and then I recall there was something I wanted to tell Bob, something I wanted him to say when he accepted my award, some folks I wanted him to thank for me… but he was already lost in the crowd.  I reach into my tux pocket and pull out an ultra-complex cell phone, and can NOT for the life of me figure out how to get Bob’s number from my contact list.  At one point, I called my grandfather (who has been dead since 1995) and HE said he didn’t know Bob’s number.  Mom and Dad and Cindi were no help at all.

Finally, I found a “Bob” on my contact list and dialed it.  But it wasn’t Bob.  It was his son, Matt, who is serving in the Navy in San Diego.  He said he knew Bob’s number and would text it to me, but I’d better get on my way if I wanted to get to Northern Minnesota in time to deliver the document.

So, I fumbled around for some maps, found one, charted my course…

And woke up.  Got up, took out the dogs, and made some nice, girly, sissy coffee treats for me and my beloved.

Now, again I wonder why all the dreams about dead relatives.  Seems the only one missing from my immediate family was my dead brother Jack, who died in 2008.  He must have been otherwise occupied.

It all just seems kinda… STRANGE!

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