Good morning

The highlight of my day so far occurred in the post office. Handed over a peculiar-looking package. The man behind the counter asked, “What’s in it?”. I then replied, with no further explication, “Blood.”

 

The package was going to the Anthony Nolan clinic in London. I was a potential match for someone who might need bone marrow, so with a bit of luck, the further testing will reveal that I am a good enough match and I’ll be able to donate in a few months. Exciting stuff. 🙂

 

Here’s a picture of some blood:

A dream I had

So, last night (this morning really) I had a really intense dream. Here’s how it went.

 

I was in a mental institution, somewhere in or near Edinburgh I think. The patients, including myself, weren’t dressed in any way that was particularly indicative of this, but it was something I knew. There were doctors and nurses that would shepherd us around as required. I knew I’d been there a few days, but was essentially waiting to be released, because (clearly!) there’s nothing wrong with me. I had the impression that we were all brought in at the same time, while the doctors checked for some sort of deficiency, after which we would be released.

I knew the other patients, though only a couple from my life before the institution. One was a fellow student at university (Mark) and one was a pupil from my high-school who I thought was a bit of a douche*. People were spending their time drawing, playing some sort of ball games outside or various other things. I then heard that, for a special treat, we were being taken to the museums today. There was a bus outside ready to take us. We queued up to get on the bus. While in the queue, the guy I went to school with starting shouting obscenities at someone on the bus. He kept shouting, so I told him to shut up. We got into a slight tussle, which was broken up by the nurse, who was not pleased. I told her that I had to stand up for myself, otherwise I’d be bullied the entire time I was there.

While on the bus, I got into a discussion with one of the other patients. I was complaining about the fact that this was more of a prison than a hospital. The nurses were like guards and we were on a prison-style bus (from what I’ve seen of such things on television). If this is a hospital, how come they’re not giving us appointments? I started asking my fellow patients if they’d had appointments. Most of them fell silent, reluctant to answer. I asked Mark, who was quietly drawing at the back of the bus, if he’d had any appointments. Someone else interjected, suggesting that he worked on his own stuff by himself, which I took to be suggesting that something sinister was wrong with him and desisted from further questioning. 

I suggested to someone that we should try to escape. The museums were a great opportunity, as they’d be fairly crowded and we could easily get separated from the nurses, to which I was told that the museums would probably be closed to the public, as it was practically closing time already. The latest ones, he informed me, were only open until 8, and that it was 19:50 already. I stared at him blankly. That couldn’t be true. It’s December and it was completely bright outside. People fell silent once again. 

One person spoke to me, softly and sympathetically. He told me that it wasn’t December. I had been involved in a train accident in December, and had been suffering from memory issues ever since. It was now approaching summer. This was why it was so light outside. 

That was ludicrous, I thought to myself. I checked my phone (apparently I still had my phone and wallet…). It informed me that it was late, and also that it was March. This surprised me, but I obviously wasn’t going to accept this tall-tale. This was a very elaborate prank. Laurence or one of my other friends has orchestrated this, to make some weird point about sceptical scenarios as knowledge defeaters. I stayed quiet for the rest of the bus ride. 

After we got off the bus, I waited until we were by an alley, then made a run for freedom. I ran as fast as I could, taking turns where possible. Then I looked back. I seemed to have escaped. Still, the hospital staff would be on the look-out so I kept a brisk walking pace. I started mulling over the suggestion that the patient had told me. I could remember everything we’d done that day, or seemed to be able to. There were no incongruities or odd gaps. It’s true that I couldn’t remember getting there though…

This is all part of the prank though. I’m fine. I kept walking. Round one corner, I saw my friend Dan (Labriola) on a bike. I waved and shouted him over. He looked a bit different. He had a bit of a beard on the go. I hadn’t seen him for a while though, so that makes sense. We got the “hellos” and the “how’ve you beens?” out of the way fairly quickly, then I decided to test something. “How long has it been?” I asked. “Did I see you in November, or was it December maybe?”  As, in my mind, it is December, this might reap answers. “December, I think” he said. Fuck. I don’t know what he said next. I was clouded with the gravity of what he’d said. Could he be in on the prank too? No. It must all be true.

“How’s your head?” he asked next, as if suddenly remembering something he’d heard. “Is everything okay now, after the train?”

I lied. “Yeah, I’m completely fine now. All better”. I tapped my head while doing so, as that seemed like the thing to do. He was pleased, exclaiming that that was great news. I couldn’t keep it up though. I needed a friend, an ally. 

“Sorry, that’s not true at all. I’ve just escaped the hospital. The last day I remember is the fourth of December.” I don’t know what I expected of him. I decided to ask him about the accident. He didn’t seem to know much. I asked what I was doing near a train. I hadn’t got any plans to travel. He told me it was a while into December that I had the accident. Apparently my memory had been wiped for a while before the accident too. I asked if I had any money, or if I still lived in my flat. This prompted me to check my wallet. My wallet was different too. It was a nice grown up wallet, which confused me. Therein I saw it, a fairly worn ticket stub, with the date of the 17th of December. My keys and cards and some money were also there, so I judged that I could head back and seek answers there. 

I bid Dan goodbye, assuring him that I’d be fine. He reluctantly let me leave, knowing, I think that there was nothing he could do to stop me or change my mind. I started walking towards the train station, or at least towards main streets so I could hopefully find the station. I started thinking about my situation. If I would never be able to form long-term memories, was it worth living? I certainly couldn’t do many jobs. I couldn’t tutor undergrads. I certainly wouldn’t be able to finish my PhD. How could I ever enter/form any relationships like this? I remembered the (pretty awful) Adam Sandler film, 50 First Dates, and shuddered.

I guessed that I needed to write myself a long note and keep writing notes and indexing them, if I wanted to achieve any sort of long-term projects. Was anything else wrong with me? If I was involved in some sort of train accident, shouldn’t I be pretty messed up. I felt around my head, but couldn’t feel any bumps or sore areas. A cursory check of my body didn’t reveal anything wrong either. Maybe the “train accident” was just me falling over on a train. I probably should have asked someone to clarify that.

I was walking through a shopping precinct, and after absent-mindingly holding a door for someone, the woman in question ran up to me and thanked me. I was confused. She said it was nice to be looked at and treated as a woman. I gathered from this the implication that she was trans-gendered, but it certainly wasn’t something I could tell. She looked like a very normal blonde woman. “No problem” I said, and then uttered something about one’s gender being an issue of self-identification. She smiled, and then continued on her way.

Perhaps, I thought, there’s something wrong with my perception too. I couldn’t see (or hear) anything that would suggest she wasn’t born female, but from what she said, it seems like I was unusual in that respect. I’d let myself loose in the real world, and I had no idea the extent of my brain damage. What else might be wrong with me?

When approaching the train station, I was struck by an odd feeling. If something train-related was the cause of my plight, perhaps I should be uneasy about trains now. As, however, I can’t remember what happened, it just doesn’t bother me. I feel like something should, but it doesn’t. I decide that I need to retain all this information in my head and make sure I can write it all down soon. Maybe I could write a book… I guess a short story would probably be more plausible, all things considered. If I can’t even complete a project like that, I resolve that I really should strongly consider ending it all.

 

There was a lot more walking around, but that’s about it, until I woke up. I checked the time, checked the date, and checked my bed. Everything was as I expected. Dreams are great.

 

 

 

*Upon reflection, though this did not strike me at the time, I think I heard around a year ago that the former pupil had died. Read from that what you will.