Mercy! Mercy! That Dang Nabed PERCY!

Nightmares

My mind amazes me at times with how well it sometimes works. Dyslexia for all its frustrations is a dark cloud with an ofttimes silver lining. For me negative logic is all but impossible to grasp. While I like to write computer programs, the algorithms do not like my bio-processor. I have to get an IT guy to write them. I provide the inputs, the test data, and the expected outputs and let someone with an aptitude for that sort of thing write the formulas. If I have to write one I often resort to juggling the variables until it finally works. This can take a long time and is frustrating beyond belief. The ease with which someone with an aptitude for math can write one makes me want to scream! My daughter Chris is a math geek, believe it or not. Despite a half of me being mixed into her DNA she has the gift that was denied me. It doesn't hurt that her mother is smart.

Sometimes I read back on something I've written and say "My goodness, I really like the way I said that." At other times I think, did I really write that? Surely this is too good for something I've written. Maybe it's a sort of plagiarism in reverse, and I stole the thought, idea or words from something my muse dropped off as she passed through my imagination.

Then there is the question regarding wether the stuff we write comes from inside our minds or we have a mechanism in our imaginations for latching onto those thoughts and ideas that flit and flirt through our awareness, from somewhere beyond our brain.

Maybe our muse lives in one of those pipes from a dimension those physicists keep telling us about.

Then there are dreams. What is that all about? Parts of them are tied to recollections but other parts are so twisted and embellished from the reality of what happened... that I'm left to wonder, which way is up? Some of it has a germ of truth but other parts are so divorced from what actually happened, that they don't qualify as a pure recollection but rather as a distortion that flows coherently but has a spin that is malevolently contrived, giving what I clearly and honestly recall, a totally mistaken narrative. It is like something is messing with my mind and trying to cast my past actions in the worst possible light.

I know, I know, my readers think. Bob needs to be taking his PSD meds and start getting a good night's sleep. Maybe I should, but dreams are an aspect of life and rather than trying to medicate them away, maybe I need to pay them more attention and see what I can take from the nightmares, .

Whoever created us had a plan and time line for how our days on earth were supposed to play out. We were, according to the script, supposed to be born, mature, come to the peak of our physical and intellectual prowess and then slowly (or abruptly) fade as the effects of aging, and bad life style choices took their toll on our bodies.

Suddenly medical science comes on the scene and the programmed exit to this life is no longer as predictable as it once was. Take for example the three stints I just had to unplug the blockages to my heart arteries. I was slowing down, according to the grand biological protocol in the sky, and was on my way to "endgame" with a heart attack or stroke. .. "When what to my wondering eyes should appear but a Cardiac Doctor and a room full of garbed assistants." And what do you supposed happened next? You got it! my occlusions were flushed out like one of those old "Draino" commercials and once more blood is flowing like in the good old days. Not to all the places it once did mind you, but with enough volume to once more impart vitality to the bio-machine I drive around.

As an added benefit the experience also yielded some lifestyle changes like diet and exercise and I feel better than I have in a long time. So you might say I cheated the paradigm and was granted an extension commonly referred to as "A New Lease on Life.

How cool is that?