AFT

For the second consecutive morning I woke feeling like that sound from outside was an 18 wheeler in overdrive escape gear that had just ran over my dozing arse. With today's exception that forward wasn't enough, so I got reversed over as well. The equivalent of some poor raccoon meeting head on with steel-belted radicals at 45mph. Bed kill. 

I am taking this medication called omeprazole to treat the gastric reflux issue that they think might cause the heart/respiratory issue. So that might have something to do with it. But it feels more like, plain and simple, I am not recovering well from evening sessions in the HoM. The last two nights we have gone hard later than usual, which pushes back the recovery clock. But this? Ouch.

The Provider called this morning to say she had a chat with the X-Ray specialist and they think, agree and recommend a cardiologist as a result of what now indicates an enlarged heart. I though that was good, "He had a heart the size of Montana" has a nice ring. Used to anyway. 

Maybe it is because of the dreams. OMG, another round of REMs that would make Tarantino wince. I dunno. 

Making matters even more paradoxical this morning was the quote I ran across as I settled into work at a ridiculously late hour, hands cupped around a steaming mug of two day old microwaved coffee. The quote was this:

The Buddha brought suffering onto himself, to look into the face of it, to see who he then was. Jesus allowed himself to be crucified, to demonstrate who he was. And what do you think YOU are doing here? Why bother with this relative world if not to know yourself in your own experience? And how else to do that except through the encountering of that which you are not?

I set the coffee down, dipped my heavy eyes into my warm palms and played back the tapes. I saw the data chart indicating red-line effort on the bike, I saw the church being built with bricks and adobe clay that looked like a giant pizza oven, I saw a graph of magazine sales from Baltimore, Cincinnati, Milwaukee and Atlanta, I saw a bowl of blue ice and a bowl of dry ice. The Fed guy asked me how I wanted to die and I looked around for an escape route as the five other big, tough guys in frumpy brown suits and stained ties watched my every move, anticipating that very attempt. I saw a giant red snapper with mouth agog. Teeth and nothing else. 

Alright then. The truck is gone and so is the coffee. The dream lingers, blacks crushed in a sinister shadow. There is work to be done. More details to refine, rough edges to polish. I could encounter what I am not today. 

What I am not is somebody who takes getting rolled by a semi laying down. I even have a partial on the license plate: AFT.