Contact me here next year. If I'm not here, site will not be updated and well, you know the rest.

I'm copying what I wrote down yesterday morning from a dream I had on Thursday, July 3 sometime between 0711 and 0930.

Not sure what to make of this.

I went to a physician in some ER and he (mild/moderate build, slight tan, wavy brown hair) said I had some kind of internal organ disease. He said I only had a few days to a few weeks to live. He said my heart would just stop (after I had asked him how it would happen) (reminds me of the situation when we had to euthanise our cat, Sophie).

Then I remembered being at some kind of cook out (picnic or BQ) with a number of relatives and a few of went inside a house and began looking at a TV screen that showed sections of my brain (we could use a controller to navigate around the sections. Then my 2nd cousin (can't remember which of 2 cousins it was) said they had experience looking at this, so he took the controller.

While we were doing this, I began to think about my supposed arranged fate (living to 63, writing, etc.) and thought that this couldn't be right. So, I starting thinking about the ER physician and his "diagnosis". He didn't order any X-rays, scans, MRI's, etc. to support his diagnosis.

We went to see him at the hospital and he says it's possible that it could be incorrect. He also said that I should have had the scans done before I went to the ER.


*** I believe I had this dream because I've less than 2 months unemployment insurance remaining. So, I have had almost 4 months of time when I could and should have been writing every single day. But, I falter. I procrastinate, trying to put off the inevitable. Makes one wonder whether I really want to write, after all. I've thought about this often. The answer is I definitely do. Not only that, but I believe that is possible that I am supposed to physically die when I am 63. I am now 34, and if I am supposed to create this corpus of work then I really need to get with the plan. See, PKD was born on 1928 and died in 1982. In keeping with the tradition I have come to the conclusion that I, too, will die in 2037, while I lived was born in 1973. So, if I am published at least this year or next, I believe I stay on the train for a while longer, although my book will be closed on 2037. And if I don't begin soon, if I don't do what it is that I am supposed to do, then perhaps my time in this realm is near over. It's not that I'm afraid to die, it's that 1) I love my daughter and want to be with her, to see her grow and have a beautiful life and 2) I still do really believe that there is something that I am supposed to do, and a large part of that is writing.