My World of Parkinsonian Delights

Join the Club, Toots…

I don’t know why I dream the things I dream.  I don’t know what meaning lies behind them.  I don’t know what they say about my psyche.  All I know is that they’re weird.

Night before last, I dreamed that I was staying in a sleazy hotel (which has been the location of other dreams in the recent past) and my dead twin brother and my very-much-alive brother in law were in love with each other.  Angry love.  Loud love.  Pressing my brother’s face to the wall and taking him love.

I asked Bob to reconsider marrying this guy.  I’ve known him for a long time (and my real brother-in-law is as likely to be gay as I am to be a pelican), and I just didn’t think he would be treated well.  Bob said he didn’t care and that this was his last chance for happiness.

So I just went back to my filthy room and woke up.

Last night, I can only remember a snippet.

I was fixing my ex-mother-in-law’s toilet.  She was sitting on a chair watching me.  I was having trouble connecting a pipe and water started spewing.

“I have dementia now,” she said to me.

“Who doesn’t?” was my reply.

And that’s all I can remember.


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