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2005-11-11 @ 9:50 p.m.
act crazy and carry a large cucumber


The other thing that I had been stressing about the last couple of days was the fact that last week I got a call forwarded from my case mgr. from a state dis@bility worker who told me that I had missed my recertification appointment on October 20th. And I was like “wtf?”

I guess every 4 years or so, when you’re on disability, the government checks up on you to make sure you’re not cured and just cruising around, going to the mall, and getting free checks. (I’m not, by the way).

Well, this was my first appointment to do that. But I was shocked because I had gotten no notification that I had an appointment. I didn’t even know what they were talking about, so naturally I went into freak-out mode, thinking they were going to take away all my benefits because of some governmental snafu.

Fortunately, there was another appointment scheduled this week, but according to the recording, if I missed that one, I would be considered cured and all benefits would cease. So I immediately called that number and like all good governmental offices, I got a voice mail. The appointment was at the same time as “A”s appointment ended Thursday and I wanted to see if I could be about 15 minutes late. Because I really wanted to be able to talk to “A” before I went, so I wouldn't say anything stupid. But it was a futile game of phone tag. I did finally connect with a human late Wednesday afternoon, after about 4-5 calls and the woman said she thought it would be ok, as long as it wasn’t like 2 hours.

So I saw “A” Thursday morning. He was running a little late, mainly because he said I was so quiet when I came in, he didn’t realize I was there...so I hit the floor running. I told him about the upcoming appointment and fortunately he was able to calm me down by telling me he had once worked with the two people who did the screening and that they were really nice. He also told me that they weren’t there to kick me off the books, but that they just wanted to see what my status was. I still wasn’t totally convinced, since I'm a total neurotic nutball, so I asked him once again what to do. He then slowly looked over his laptop at me, shook his head slightly and said, “Act crazy.”

heh, thanks “A”.

Once we got that out of the way, we were able to talk about all these weird dreams I've been having since I started these new meds. Usually I don’t remember my dreams much, but lately, its been like watching some kind of an ongoing mini-series.

So I sat and told him about the two most memorable ones in the last 10 days, the first of which involved me nearly falling out of a car in a cul de sac as it was going in circles at a high rate of speed, and then me jumping naked up on a glass top table out on a deck and doing poetry off the cuff, not realizing I was naked and then looking down under the glass table and seeing a man curled up in the fetal position.

In the second dream I had a certain person I’ve talked about in this diary get into bed with me and someone else standing at the bottom of my bed, telling me that his wife had a restraining order taken out on him. And then I got out of bed and he came and sat in my living room and insisted that I plug the cable TV cable into my television, which I was having trouble doing (I just couldn’t get the pokey thing into the damn hole) and then suddenly my sink started to overflow and I had to take a long knife and jab it into the sinkhole to relieve the clog and then when the sink did drain there was a bunch of lunch meat floating around in there.

Can you say Freud, witty? “A” basically said the word “penis” about eleventy hundred times and intermingled it with the words “out of control”. So I’m not really sure if we resolved anything, and I didn’t tell him about my dream about him, except for a snippet. So it appears that my subconscious is having this really fun, sexy penisful love life, and I’m sitting home Friday night eating cereal with my cat. Woo-hoo! Yay me!

Of course my subconscious does surface occasionally. Like today I took my client out to the yuppie grocery store for lunch and she needed to go over to the produce department to get a head of cabbage. I was just in a kind of quiet, dreamy mood. She kept saying, “These cabbage heads are too big. I wish they were smaller,” and then picking them up and feeling them. So I was standing there watching her and then I started watching this guy next to her, run his hands over a bin full of brussell sprouts. He did it so lovingly and purposefully. I started to wonder if he was single. I then turned to my left and every damn vegetable for as far as my eye could see was, how shall I say this? Cylindrical in shape.... Cucumbers. Zucchini. Gobo roots. Celery. Eggplants. After she got her cabbage, we then walked along the produce counter and I was really struck by how sensual they all looked, all dripping with moisture... long....hard....firm.



I don’t even eat produce, but I was tempted to buy a couple of them, if not to only look at them, but to perhaps lay them by my bed so that I have something to dream about other than pieces of bloated lunch meat from an overflowed sink.

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