The Essay

I learned on Friday that my grad school application has been moved on through the next step in the process.  They want me to come in for an interview.  I'm incredibly excited. I worked so hard on my essay, and put into it everything I could. This essay robbed me of time, and resulted in the return of some anxiety issues that I thought I had completely resolved.  Turns out, soaking myself of every fiber of my writing ability and desire to improve was worth it. Now would be a good time to share it with all of you (assuming there's any of you).  *You may recognize bits of it from a previous blog.

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One of the children I work with is a 4 year old boy.  He is the sweetest kid once you get to know him.  Unfortunately, because he is scary, many people do not get that chance. He scared me when I first met him, and I have known him to scare away countless reasonable adults.  His terrifyingly destructive, abusive, and assaultive tantrums frequently require three adults to contain. He exhibits a high anxiety level by chewing on his fingers, banging his head against walls, punching himself in the face, and falling to the ground with alarming power. He also perseverates.  He fixates on colors, objects, characters, stuffed animals, and insects. In the time I have known him, he has been obsessed with the color blue, spiders, fire trucks, and Spiderman.

His Spiderman fixation is of particular interest. He knows Spiderman’s crime fighting techniques, and frequently attempts to use them, as a coping mechanism, in every-day life.  However, aside from being an endearing way to manage his fears, this little boy is demonstrating some remarkable insight about his own condition.  Without knowing it, he has chosen the most appropriate superhero to identify with.

Spiderman is really just an ordinary person in a costume. He is fallible; with faults and strengths just like the rest of us. However, his body is capable of extraordinary things, it is astonishing, but it is also frightening. For Spiderman, these tasks are superhuman feats intended to scare away literal demons. For this little boy, they are superhuman tantrums that inadvertently scare away his caregivers. Spiderman copes with this ability by developing a costume which allows him to anonymously fight off assailants.  He hides behind a mask.  For this little boy, tantrums are his proverbial mask.

Undoubtedly, Spiderman does great things. He saves people, and helps improve the world.  Most love him, and celebrate his extraordinary ability while he hides behind his mask.  However, when the mask is gone he fails to stand out.  It is different for this child.  He does have a support system who loves him when he is not hiding behind his tantrum mask, but he cannot accept it.  In contrast, this boy’s mask isolates him. He frightens others and himself. He sees himself just as most people do.  They see him as being the  psychological demons he fights.

In my experience working with maltreated children and disadvantaged families, I have encountered a number of children like this little boy. These children are plagued with serious psychological afflictions.  They are tasked with the normal and expected stressors of being a kid and growing up in a complex world, but are also burdened with scary pasts, unstable homes, inconsistent caregivers, and disabling diagnoses. Things are not easy for these children. They release anxiety through harmful and destructive behaviors.  They seek care and nurturance by screaming and throwing chairs, and avoid strong feelings by intentionally ignoring those they can rely on. They attempt to tell you what they have been through by engaging in indiscriminant and sexualized behaviors.  

After everything that has happened to these children, they exhibit an alarming amount of insight and unwitting self-awareness. Whether it is the little boy I previously discussed, or the reactive four year-old who played out his attachment issues with me and explained “I don’t know how to like you,” these kids seem to know deep down, just how different they are. Not many people see that, but I do.

For nearly two years I have worked in the milieu as a Child Development Specialist (CDS) at Morrison Hand in Hand Day Treatment, and of the many things I have learned there is that I am good at this.  I am able to see kids for who they are, and not what they do. I approach my clientele from a developmental perspective, and find creative interventions to facilitate their success in a variety of situations. For example, the boy with the “Spiderman complex” often refused to clean up or participate in group activities until I suggested he sit on “the S for Spiderman” in the alphabet carpet.

Another one of my personal strengths is that I truly hear the children that I work with. I listen to their words, and I understand that they are trying to communicate what their limited life experience will not let them. I hear the five year old with PTSD and Fetal Alcohol Effects tell me “sometimes I say things, and then I say other things,” and I understand that when he says “it makes me feel mad at my brain” he has realized that he thinks differently than his peers do. In addition to the above mentioned strengths, I feel I possess a strong sense of empathy, compassion, and unique understanding towards those I work with.  

It is this ability to understand that has inspired me to pursue a career in the mental health field, as a therapist specializing in work with traumatized and attachment-challenged children. I have enjoyed the work I have done thus far immensely, but I feel that I can do more. I would like to further develop my knowledge of information pertaining to this field. It is my hope that a graduate degree in counseling will give me a comprehension of clinical models, and therapeutic interventions that I can implement in my future practice.  Another of the areas that I feel needs further development is my knowledge regarding available resources both universally and in the local community. I believe that studying counseling at Pacific University will guide me on this path, by affording me access to those resources, and helping me reach my goals.

Pacific offers courses which will bolster my comprehension with a strong knowledge of relevant theories, practices, and clinical models. By asking students to complete community internships, Pacific will also help me build upon the strong foundation of experience I have obtained thus far. I am particularly interested in this program because of the emphasis on evidenced-based practice.  This emphasis fits with my previous experience in the field and coincides with my belief that it is ethically wrong to offer treatment without the supporting facts of its effectiveness. I have a drive to learn, and have always sought out research regarding my clientele and proven supportive interventions. Currently, I attend a minimum of twice monthly trainings on a variety of topics such as attachment, adoptive processes, and the affects of drugs and alcohol in utero. Also, I regularly peruse the mental health section of book stores for supplemental knowledge. Also, in my work as a CDS, I have encountered numerous situations which have sparked a desire for education. 

One situation, in particular, seems especially applicable. After his entry into the program, one of my clients began to respond to my support and interactions erratically. He expressed an apparent preference by seeking me out often, turning down other staff, and calling out my name when I was unavailable.  When I was able to work with him, he reacted to my redirects and encouragement with an extreme level of aggression, dysregulation, and emotionality that was unlike his reactions to most adults in his life. It gradually increased to a point where I was unable to have any successful interactions with him, be they directive or non-directive. Because of this, I became curious about what particular process was causing such a distinct response.

 Of my own volition, I began to research early childhood attachment. What I found was a wealth of knowledge about Reactive Attachment Disorder in traumatized children.  I brought this information to the team – including, myself, a clinical manager, a psychiatrist, and several family therapists- and the diagnosis was applied to the child’s treatment plan.  I also used the information I obtained from case studies and academic research to implement rituals and routines which facilitated development of a more secure attachment.  Ultimately this helped the child to begin to overcome his reactivity towards me.

I believe the above scenario is just one example of why I am a match for this program, and will thrive with the continued education I know Pacific provides. It is rare that an individual is driven to work with such a daunting population, and many exhaust themselves and move on after a very short period of time.  I am unique in that I have grown through various positions, and remained interested in this particular group. I may be overwhelmed at times, but I find support in those I work with, and am always further inspired to learn more and help my clients overcome their disruptive and disabling psyches.  I enjoy working with these children, despite situations that can seem hopeless or overwhelming. I am aware that there are a limited number of resources available for such populations, and would like to help expand those resources by becoming an expert in this area.  It is my hope to be accepted to Pacific, so I can begin to realize this dream.

My Friend Tank

Location: Apartment
Mood: Anticipating sadness

When I started the work that I do, just over a year and a half ago, I met this little boy.  He was three years old at the time. I used to joke that he was shaped like a cinder block...because he was.   To my friends and family I referred to him as Tank.  He stood out amongst the other kids, because he had a certain quality.  Something about him was just...entertaining.

Tank could barely talk when I met him.  That's not for lack of trying (he loves to talk!), and it definitely was not because he was shy.  Tank's parents, for whatever reason, failed to recognize that he was sick. A lot. Poor kid had chronic ear infections.  No one knows what the world sounded like to him, but it definitely didn't sound like something his brain could convert into language.  He couldn't talk to the grown ups in his world, and he lacked the ability to ask for even his most basic needs to be met. However, what he did seem to find out was if he urinated around the house, tipped over large pieces of furniture, or hurt the other kids he got attention, and eventually his needs were met.

When I was first introduced to Tank, it was a couple months after he had corrective surgery. He was beginning to acquire language at a very rapid pace. However, his speech continued to be unintelligible.  I was just beginning my work in this field, and felt like I didn't have a clue about anything.  Then, there was this kid who I literally could not understand. He was bulky and clumsy. Tank crashed his way through the other childrens' toys and games, and seemed to enjoy their negative responses. If he wanted a hug, he would just run at you full throttle, and knock you to the ground.

Against all odds, he was the first child I worked with that made me feel like I had found my calling. I didn't know what I was doing.  I didn't know how to help.  I couldn't understand what he wanted to say, but I noticed him because he wanted to help me.  I was new to his classroom, and didn't know my way around.  Rather than telling him to complete tasks, I brought myself down to his level and looked at him as a tutor.  I asked Tank to help me learn the rules and where everything goes. And he loved it. He'd stop whatever destructive activity he was engaged in to show me where the Rescue Heroes were supposed to go.  If he started to run away from me, and I asked him when it was time to run, Tank would grab my hand take me over to the schedule.  Still running, but it's a start.

Eventually, I became a regular staff, and he became a more permanent friend. I followed him down the hallways as he tucked his arms in, shook his hips rapidly and chanted "potty, potty, potty, potty" in an amusingly low voice. Once in the stall he would sing himself through the steps, ("pee. pee. pee. stop. flush.") I listened as he attempted to explain the plot to his favorite movies with a limited and indecipherable vocabulary.  I was amazed at how patient he was with such a debilitating speech impediment.  He became incredibly expressive.  Tank would describe entire scenes in cartoons, and while you couldn't understand his words you could tell from his actions, mannerisms, and sound effects what was happening.

I will never forget the time he told me about his foster father driving a car.  He mimed the steering wheel, muttering incomprehensibly about what was happening, then he SCREEEEEEEECHED, and leaned sideways. "Woah," he said. Obviously, this had been an event.

I've been with Tank through two of his birthdays, and watched him grow. He's still rather stocky for his age, but he's taller and thinner now.  He looks more and more like a big boy each day. Currently he tells these surprisingly good Knock-Knock jokes (T: knock knock? ME: who's there? T:banana.ME:  banana who? T: Eat me.), and often poses hysterical scenarios (ex. "wouldn't it be funny if we didn't have feet?") . He enjoys affection, and will jump into your arms any time you ask for a hug. Tank is avoidant when it comes to big events, or strong feelings. However, he spontaneously says that he loves us, and I know it's true.

This week I have to say goodbye to Tank.  He has grown a great deal since I've known him. He's bigger, smarter, and more aware than ever before.  He still has a lot of work to do, but that work will have to be elsewhere. My team has advocated against his departure for nearly six months, but for reasons I can't fathom we've lost that battle.

This little boy is going to hear a lot of very upsetting news in the months to come, and I will no longer be there to support him.  He is going to leave my world. And I'm worried that this happy little boy is going to vanish entirely in the years to come.


Clearly, I can't tell his story as well as I can tell the others'.  I think it's because his is too close to home. No matter what, this child has made an impact on my heart, and I will never forget him for it.

Peter Parker Syndrome

Mood: thoughtful
Location: Apartment

Last weekend I re-watched the Spiderman movies,  and I was struck at how profound they are. There is a large number of lines that could be looked at out of context and still be incredibly moving. It got me thinking....

There is this little boy who lives in my world. He's really the sweetest kid once you get to know him. Unfortunately many people don't get that chance, because he's scary. This kid is only 4 years old, and I have known him to scare away at least a handful of full grown mature adults. I don't blame these people either. He scared me when I first met him. This little boy has some terrifyingly destructive, abusive, and assaultive tantrums that frequently require three adults to contain, but that's not who he is.

In his short life, he has been exposed to some awful traumas. His world was not safe. He was scared, confused, and trapped. His world is safe now. It's getting safer and healthier with each day. However, the impact of those early experiences lingers, and has impacted his mental health. Currently his tantrums are fewer and more manageable, but they are still scary. This little boy has an anxiety level higher than I have ever seen. He chews on his fingers, hits his head against walls (causing bumps and bruises), punches himself in the face, and falls to the ground with alarming power. He also perseverates. He fixates on colors, objects, characters, stuffed animals, and insects. These fixations often result in tantrums. In the time I have known him, he has been obsessed with the color blue, spiders, swimming pools, a stuffed spotted dog, fire trucks, spider webs, the number 2, and, Spiderman.

His Spiderman fixation might be my favorite. He knows the wrist web slinging maneuver, and for sometime used it frequently. He may not have been aware of it, but it was clearly an attempt at a coping mechanism. This little boy walked around with both hands cocked and ready to swing webs on whatever may be in his path. If you called his name, he would turn abruptly and point his wrists at you. It was hauntingly adorable.

This past weekend, while watching Spiderman, I realized just how perfect and insightful this little boy's hero worship is.  Without knowing it, he has chosen the most appropriate superhero.

Spiderman is really just Peter Parker in a fancy outfit. He is a completely ordinary person with his faults and his strengths just like the rest of us.  Then, he experiences a series of events that cause a reaction of extreme proportions. Suddenly, Peter Parker is capable of these extraordinary things, it's awe-inspiring, but it's also pretty frightening. He develops a costume and persona that allows him to do things that would interfere with his ordinary life. He hides behind a mask.

But, behind that mask is Peter, the sweet, geeky boy, who is trying to figure out who he is and what is right in this world. He is isolated by the things that his body does, and the demons that he fights while it's happening. He can't talk to the people who love him, because he's scared of what acknowledging that will mean.

The biggest difference here should be obvious. As Spiderman, Peter does great things. He saves people, and helps improve the world. Most people love him, and celebrate his extraordinary ability while he hides behind his mask.

For my friend, it's different. He does have a support system that loves him when he is not hiding behind his wrist flicks and his tantrum mask, but he can't accept it. He sees himself just as most people do. They see him as the demons he fights.

The Destruction of Society as We Know it.

I have come to the conclusion that text messaging is ruining the world.
 It feels like no one actually calls anyone anymore.
When you text a person, there is no voice. You have no inflection in your words. Because of this, it is hard to decipher your actual meaning. This is especially detrimental for someone like myself. My main means of communication is through sarcasm. When you can't overemphasize words, draw out sentences, or act out your silliness through vocal mannerisms, you come off like an insensitive bitch. No fun. This can sometimes lead to arguments. What was originally meant as a brief conversation can become a huge misunderstanding, or (in a worse case scenario) an all out electronic brawl.

This leads me to another point. What is the point of having a texting conversation? Sometimes it can take hours, or even days. It's ridiculous! Say you want to see if someone will go to the movies with you. If you call them up it will go like this:

A: "Hey want to see a movie?"
B: "Which one?"
A: "Attack of the 50 foot Cactus."
B: "Sure, what time?"
A: "How's 5:30"
B: "Cool, see you there."

That took me less than a minute to type. But in all reality it's going to take a minimum of 5 minutes when you factor in sending time, service strength, and the length of time it takes to wrestle your fingers over those tiny screens. Now, Imagine how quickly it would go if spoken aloud. Scratch that. Read it out loud. How long did it take you? Thank you for proving my point.

That conversation could possibly take forever in text land. You'd send out your original "hey want to see a movie" text around, we'll say noon. But, Jo-Bob (or whatever you're calling your friends these days) might not be near his phone. He might get it around 1:30pm. So, you get the inevitable: "Sry dude jst got ur txt! movie sounds gd still dwn?" But, alas, you were not by your phone at this point in time. You had gone downstairs to google your name, or hulu reruns of Scrubs. You don't get the message until around 3ish. Jo-Bob assumes your lack of response means "no," and he has gone out. He put his phone on silent. Therefore Jo-Bob doesn't notice your text until around 5:15pm. Luckily you were by your phone. You think, "perfect timing!" Think again. When Jo-Bob went out, he saw Attack of the 50 foot Cactus. Now you need to figure out a different movie to see, but Jo-Bob hasn't turned his phone off silent. He doesn't know you still want to hang out. He's busy playing video games, and doesn't check his phone at regular intervals. Instead of having a meaningful interaction with another human being you end up spending your day alone.

Another reason why texting is ruining civilization: Did you read that message that Jo-Bob typed? Where did his vowels go? What is up with that punctuation?! I kind of want to scream at him, but I can't because his phone is on silent. Text messaging has brought about all of these abbreviations and written shortcuts. Half the time I don't even know what I'm reading. Then I need to consult the internet in order to decipher whatever code language your communication has devolved into. It's exhausting.  Now it's seeping into oral communication. Think of the number of times you've heard someone say "OMG" or "BTW" a loud in the last year. Now slap yourself that number of times.

This is what society is turning into. I'm tired of getting "how are you?" or "what's up?" text messages too. If you honestly want to hear the answer to that question you should call me, because I'm most likely going to lie to you over text message. This is not because I don't care enough to tell you. It's because it takes forever to give a genuine answer to this question when you're attempting to type a message with character restraints.

Plus, half the time the predictive texting mechanism on the phone thinks you've said a non-word and changes it to something nonsensical. After you've spent 15 minutes crafting the perfect response, you hit send only to discover this in your outbox: "I'm grwat. Work ie too. I local my me place. You should come view something." It's just easier to respond "good" or "nothing." My phone knows those words.
Bottom line: call me. Let's chat. I want to know how you're doing also.

But, perhaps the most unsettling reason that texting is ruining our world. The fact that most people are more comfortable texting one another than speaking to each other. How are we supposed to meet people or get to know anyone when we can't even interact with each other? Eye contact with strangers makes us uncomfortable. We don't know what to say to one another in the elevator. Instead, we whip out our phones to text someone rather than actually speak to the person standing right next to us. We are too afraid of rejection to actually call someone we're interested in, so we send the ever profound "hey!" message. When people call us we respond by looking at the screen and saying "that's weird why is Mary Lou calling me?"

It's all so depressing. I really enjoy people watching, but lately there hasn't been much to watch. I look out the window of my local coffee shop, and all I see are people looking at screens. Men standing at bus stops, texting someone. Women walking in pairs down the street, but not talking to each other. No, that would be awkward. They're both looking at their phones.

From an evolutionary standpoint, things do not look good. Eventually we're going to loose the ability to be successful in social functions. We'll have to carry around screens and keyboards in order to communicate with other people. Avoiding eye contact will result in some crucial misreading of social cues. We'll never make any new friends. We're becoming a selectively mute autistic society, and I'm scared for our future. NE Ways. G2G. TTYL

La-La La La La

Location: I-84
Mood: Ridiculously Nostalgic

While driving home from my parents house this Christmas evening, I was struck with a random high-school memory. It is the type of memory that everyone has. The one that assures everyone that this particular period in their life is supposed to be absurd.

I think that the memory occurred because I was noticing all of the cars on the freeway in the rain, and I was wondering what portion of them were headed for The Grotto. *The Grotto* *The Grotto* *The Grotto*
(Why yes that was a fading echo narrating the transition into the memory)

It was mid December. It's Oregon, so that means it was raining. I was in my family's Subaru Outback with my former best friend, and my wankster boyfriend. We were on our way to one of my choir's numerous holiday performances. This particular one being at The Grotto. I don't know what we were talking about, but it was most likely something important that would cure the world of all it's problems. This potential world peace solution was never fully realized however, because Kelis - Milkshake came on the radio, and we went biserk.

Teenage pandemonium broke out in that station wagon. Two teenage girls began to sing at the top of their lungs, and dance in their seats. I don't remember how the guy reacted entirely, but I do remember him spurring a lively debate when he said, "have you seen this music video? Gurl is ugly. Her milkshake definitely would NOT bring me to the yard."

This led me to ask a number of very naive questions such as: Who is this? What's a milkshake? Where is this "yard"? Why does she want the boys to go there?

It would be years before I answered most of these inquiries, but apparently the memory of rocking out to Milkshake before a holiday choir concert in one of Portland's most sacred places will stick with me forever.

The Forehead Kiss

Location: My Apartment
Mood: Longing

What is it about the forehead kiss? It's heart warming really. It's the only kind of kiss that lets you know the kisser truly cares about you. Sure, anyone can kiss you on the forehead, and there's nothing particularly intimate about that section of flesh. But, for some reason, when someone kisses you right there, above your nose and in between your eyes, it seems to expose their true feelings for you.

It doesn't always have to be in a romantic setting. My dad kisses me on the forehead occasionally, and when that happens I know that he's proud to be my dad. I have a male friend who smooches my temple from time to time. Granted, this would be odd if it happened frequently, but since it doesn't it's special. It let's me know that he is glad to be my friend.

That being said, I think the best forehead kiss is the romantic forehead kiss. It's been my favorite kiss from all of my previous boyfriends, but it hasn't been the same for each of them. It's an individualized embrace.

I had one boyfriend that did it frequently. When this occurred it was innocent, and affectionate. This boyfriend and I broke up, but we remained close friends. He no longer kisses my forehead. However, when I look back upon a time that he did I'm not surprised that our amorous relationship did not last. The kiss on the tip of my face foretold our future as life long friends who care deeply for one another.

My second serious boyfriend often kissed me on the top of my head. When he did I felt this strong bond to him. I couldn't help but smile. Even now, I remember that experience fondly. The memory gives me a warm sensation behind my eyes and a tingling feeling in my stomach just as strong as if it were still happening. At the time, it was my favorite thing in the world. I couldn't get enough of it, and I even went so far as to ask him to do it (calling it a kiss "betwix my ojos") It was an intense feeling. Ultimately, that's how our relationship was. Intense. It ended with me begging for more, and not appreciating the sporadic specialness of a random peck.

Through the years various people have kissed my forehead, and retrospectively each kiss has indicated the nature of our relationship. A kiss on the forehead is brief, but will tell you if someone admires you, or is amused by you. A forehead kiss can even tell you if, in some way, the kisser looks down on you with a level of condescension. This gentle kiss between your eyes can even allow you to evaluate whether you reciprocate the same level of emotion or intimacy as the kisser.

Really, it's the best kind of kiss, and I wish you all one very soon.

Awesome Conversations with Children

So, you may or may not know that I work with children. Most of the kids I work with have had some pretty traumatic/hard lives. However, that does not make them any less insightful or fun. They have said some completely amazing things to me over the last few months, and I decided to start documenting them. Due to confidentiality reasons I can't give much information, but I thought that people might enjoy what little I could share. I've had some really rather humorous conversations with these little tykes.

Before I share them with you I should probably put in a little disclaimer. None of these conversations represent my own opinions or ideas. I take no responsibility for any offense that may come from the ramblings of these children. Besides, they're just kids people. Lighten up.

J. Boy age 7
J: I've been to Mars.
Me: Really? What's it like there?
J: Red
Me: Makes sense.
J: And they speak Chinese.
Me: Oh, I had no idea.
J: Yeah, this one time I called them up, and I was like, 'ching chang cho.;
Me: What does that mean?
J: I don't know. I don't speak Chinese.

boy Age 8
You know, Venus is a lot like New York.

J. boy Age 5
J: How old are you?
Me: How old do you think I am?
J: 8?
Me: No, I'm older than 8.
J: 3,000?
Me: No. I'm younger than 3,000.
J: Will you just tell me?
Me: I'm 23.
J: WOAH! You should be bigger!

boy Age 8
The three rules of the sea:
1. No eating other fish, unless they attack you or swim away.
2. Always obey the law.
3. No messing with Spiderman.

D. boy age 5
D: This dragon breathes fire and ice cream.
Me: Doesn't that melt the ice cream?
D: No. Because, sometimes you have to cook ice cream first.

J. boy age 5
Me: That's a really big green bean you have!
J: It's not bigger than this town though.

E. boy age 3
Me: What do those carrots taste like?
E: Umm...green.

boy age 4
My doughnut tasted like Spiderman.

M. boy age 5
M: I like sharks, but not real ones. They bite you. Swordfish hurt you too.
Me: I didn't know that.
M: Yeah well they have a poky nose.

boy age 4
I don't want to play with you. I want to play with a human.

boy age 4 (Reactive Attachment Disorder)
I don't know how to like you.

girl age 7
You want a piece of me? Let's go butthole.

M. boy age 4
Me: Where were you yesterday?
M: I'm batman. I was flying around.

K. boy age 5
Me: What did you draw?
K: That's me in my mommy's tummy. It's boring there.

A. boy age 5
A (to another kid): Please stop looking at me.
Me: She's not looking at you. She's just looking around the room. Does it feel like she's looking at you?
A: Yeah, it's cuz she thinks I'm a robot.

A. boy age 5
A: Knock, Knock!
L: Who's there?
A: Please to meet you!
L: Please to meet you who?
A: um...pants on head!

M. boy age 4
I don't want to hurt people, but sometimes I do and I don't know why.

Admittedly I have gotten really bad at remembering these little bits of awesomeness that children offer me. As the last few entries may indicate, my memory has gravitated toward the more disturbing quotes of late. I have been saving this draft for a while. I began it a year ago before I started regular work with maltreated kids. I've added to it over the months, but not for some time. Rereading it has reminded me that kids have remarkable, and often enjoyable insight. I think it's important to consider that every now and then. Enjoy your kids people.

The Logical Heroes

Location: My Room

Mood: Sleeping

This is a story about a dream I had last night. Bare with me, because I'm not sure if I can accurately describe it. Dreams are difficult to describe, and this one meets that expectation perfectly.

I'm driving through the streets of East Portland on my scooter (no I don't actually own a scooter, but apparently I do in dreamland...it's blue and white), and I'm followed by my friend of 10 years, Rob, on his.

It must have just rained because it was crisp outside, and the roads were slick. In the dream I feel like I'm being perfectly safe, but the me outside my dream, the me watching my dream, that me...she disagrees. I am zig-zagging back and forth in the lane. It's so extreme that I'm nearly horizontal every time I shift my weight to alter the lean. I'm darting in and out of traffic, and Dream Mindy is having the time of her life. Dreaming me is petrified that she's going to die, and Rob agrees with her.

He's shouting at me, "slow down Mindy! Be careful!" He's (rightfully) worried I'm going to crash.

That's when I crossed over I-84. In this world, the road just ends after you do that. I reached the end of the road, and slide-stop my scooter (you know hockey style). A couple of minutes later, Rob stops besides me. He begins to berate me for my reckless driving.

"Rob, calm down," I say. "I got us here didn't I?"

Just then, the perspective pans up to capture what can only be described as a Wildlife Safari style Rain Forest Attraction. It's set up like a tree house, and I'm unclear if it's a hotel, or just a tourist attraction thing. Whatever it is, (whether it's overnight or not) we're going there.

When we cross the threshold, we are immediately immersed in an actual Tropical rain forest tree house. It is at this point that the real me (who is asleep and watching this whole experience) realizes that this is not just regular Rob and Mindy. We're kids; somewhere between 8 and 10 years old. Apparently, we have chosen to spend the day darting around East Portland on our scooters, and then experiencing a genuine tropical rain forest that appears with no adult supervision.

After I realize that the juvenile Rob and Mindy are not simply exploring this habitat, I begin to fear for the outcome of this dream.

The tree house we have entered is loosely made of bamboo, and every room is open to the environment. Each room, or pod, is connected by a low hanging flimsy rope bridge. Most rooms are low and only inches above a bog which is infested with malicious swamp creatures.

The animals are not caged as you would imagine. In fact, they can (and typically do) come right up into the tree house. Nefarious looking simians swing on vines in and out of each pod taking what they will, and throwing what they won't. There is some kind of anaconda/alligator/shark type animal that lives in the bog below. Not only does this creature appear smart, but it seems to be aware that it is in an artificial habitat and is not happy about it. It begins to express it's anger by snapping at the children as they cross the bridge. It even gobbles up a couple.

Some monkeys swing into one of the rooms, and start physically attacking the children in there. I'm talking hair pulling, biting, eye-gouging, the works.

Rob and I look at each other. We then immediately scan as much of this environment as we can see (it appears to be an entire world now) for adults. We do see two employees in an adjacent room, but they are fending off some strange dream rain forest animals similar to hyenas. The hyena-things have worked as a team to disassemble some of the rope structure, and wrap it around the only adults. They are now attempting to force them into the bog where a giant piranha type animal is licking it's lips in anticipation.

Dream Mindy is terrified. Dreaming Mindy is trying to wake up. We both look to Rob for protection. Good thing too. Apparently he has a solution up his sleeve.

We're both huddled in a bedroom corner. Rob turns to me and says, "Don't worry. I know just who to call." Seconds later who appears but..........

Underdog and Quail Dog. They scare off the animals momentarily. Underdog screams "There's no need to fear, Underdog is here!"

At this moment everyone, (Rob, Dream Mindy, Dreaming Mindy, and the asinine canine saviors) realizes that we have not actually been saved. We have only angered the swamp thing below.

This is when I wake up.

Gloria the Congested Giantess.

Yesterday I worked a bike race at Mt. Tabor. It was rainy, and cold. However, the rain stopped and it warmed up just in time for my drive home. Given the change in surrounding, I thought it might be fun to play around with my GPS. I set the GPS to take me home with the "fastest" route. It had me scheduled to arrive home at 4:26pm, 20 minutes from my departure time. I followed it a little, but then I noticed that it had planned for me to drive on just surface streets. Normally, this is the route that I too would have chosen for myself. However, as I drove past the freeway on ramp I thought, "I wonder what time I would get home by if I took the freeway."

On an impulse, I turned at the very last minute to get onto what looked like a mostly clear freeway. About 60 seconds later... I was at a standstill. Nobody was going anywhere. I imagined (as someone with my facial anatomy would) the freeways were actually the sinus system in some giant's face, and they were clogged. No movement in or out. For what felt like an eternity I sat there and watched the estimated arrival time move further and further away. 4:28pm. 4:29pm. 4:30pm.

Then we began to inch towards freedom. I could see the I-5 & I-84 junction. I knew I was almost there. After a few more minutes, I merged onto I-84, and everything opened up. The estimated arrival time began to drop. 4:29, 4:28, 4:27pm. I thought "I'm gonna do it! Despite all that drama, I might actually beat Gloria the GPS home!"

I thought wrong. Just as the thought occurred to me, I noticed brake lights ahead. I merged right hoping to get off the freeway before the congestion. But, alas, it would not be. We were stuck on the freeway. More stuck than before. Somewhere, in my fantasy world a giant was applying heat packs to his forehead, and attempting to flush out his nasal cavities. Poor guy.

The estimated arrival time crept back up. 4:30pm. 4:32pm. 4:34pm. Bye bye dream.

Gloria Peurterschmidt laughs in my face, "FREEWAY OFF RAMP ON THE RIGHT IN 2.0 MILES!!"

That bitch. It would be 10 minutes before I could even see the off ramp. Minutes went by faster than distances. Five minutes. 1.7 miles to go. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream. Instead I laughed. Of course this would happen to me.

Eventually we crawled past a pretty bad car accident. I saw the EMTs loading someone's body into the back of an ambulance, and I felt bad for my little game. I looked ahead, the freeway opened back up, and it was time for me to make another choice. Stay on the freeway, get off and use surface streets.

Well as that day's weather systems had indicated, the beauty of sunny skies was not going to last. Open freeways, but a drizzle had started. An ominous feeling washed over me. I'd just passed two different clogged up giant nasal passages, caused by the mythical loogies of car accidents. It's probably best if I get off the free way before the hail came back.

So I did just that.

Is that the end?

Of course not. Have we met?

I exited the freeway, and began actually paying attention to my GPS, which I think is what she wanted all along. I turned off 181st onto Burnside only to discover....

CONSTRUCTION.

Clearly the giant had decided to bite the bullet and get reconstructive surgery. A mystical month's worth of back up was in store. I sat there thinking "just my luck." I turned the radio on, and accepted my fate. The estimated arrival time climbed higher than ever before.

I get it Gloria. By the time I got home it was 5:15pm. Never again will I tempt fate, and race against your vast knowledge of highways, bi-ways and surface streets.

Okay, let's be realistic, I'm probably going to attempt a similar feat sometime in the near future. As you can probably tell, I get bored.

Christmas Chagrin

Location: Gresham Station
Mood: Awkward

I would like to share with you an embarrassing moment that I just had.

I'm home alone, and needing human contact. Also, I have two Christmas gifts I to buy. So, I head to the local shopping station to scare up some presents. It is littered with people. I mean the most amount of shoppers I have ever seen at this particular location.To give you an idea of how many people were there: I waited in line at the register for 30 minutes.

When I finally get out of one store, I learn that it has begun to pour rain. So, I flip up my furry hood, and head to the next store. While crossing the street I walk past two of my next door neighbors. A girl my age, that I grew up with and played with all of the time, and her mom. They were mid conversation, but I was pretty confidant that they caught my eye.

I stop dead in my tracks. I very loudly and enthusiastically shout out "Well hi there! How are you?" in an entirely over-animated type fashion. I waved my arms about as though I was painting them a glorious Native-American Style "How Do You Do?" mural with my hands. It was so attention-grabbing that several people around stopped what they were doing and turned to see who this energetic girl was saying hello to.

Now, that wouldn't really have been all that bad. However, my neighbors halted their conversation, and stared right at me with zero recognition on their faces. They were dumb-founded. They clearly had no idea who I was. To make matters worse, both of them knit their eyebrows together and let out a very skeptical "uh...hi?" Their expressions were doubtful, like those you might expect to see on a person who had just been offered a brand new car free of charge with no strings attached by a nefarious seeming gangster type.

So, now that I have the eyes of the entire busy street corner, and it's obvious that no one knows who I am, I respond in the only logical way. My face flushes, I hang my head a little, and very swiftly say "well it was good seeing you," and dart into the nearest doorway like a woman on a mission.