Douglas E. Berry

Goddamnit. I cannot, literally cannot take much more. Yesterday morning at work, I found out it was a minimum day from a student. When I went into the school office at the end of that shift to confirm this, the secretary said that she had meant to "drive around and hand you all this" "This" being a little yellow notice that was sent home yesterday. "But I got busy."

Halford wept. On a normal day, I arrive at 1345 and am on station until 1515. The school releases kids in two sets, one at 1425, the second at 1437. On a minimum day, I arrive at 1300 and stay for one hour. The entire school releases at 1325. If a very cool 10-year-old hadn't told me about the change, I would have shown up after everyone had gone home. My school has four guard positions because it is one of the most dangerous in the district in terms of traffic. I gave the secretary my boss' phone number and suggested that if another scheduling change came up, the best bet was to call him and he would alert the guards as well as have it on his radar should a relief guard be needed.

Speaking of which. . . I got home, sat down at the computer, and started feeling miserable. Full-body shaking, I could feel the fever climbing, I could barely work my phone to call in for the afternoon shift. I eventually managed to get into the bedroom without falling over. Long story short? One ruined t-shirt and pair of shorts, I continue to be an expert at puking into containers and spent nearly 14 hours in some form of sleep.

Ah, sleep, perchance to dream. This brings me to the Nightmare. Getting bugs like this is second nature to me now, and I know what to treat them. Acetaminophen, fluids, and rest. But when I go to sleep, I get the same damn dream every time. The details change, but the basic plot is I am involved in a land dispute, usually in England, that is wrapped in Byzantine layers of old deeds and surveyors' maps. I have no idea why I want this land, and it's one of those dreams where I know I'm dreaming, and keep thinking "If I just stop looking at the broken marble column, it will end." This one at least featured a duel. Turns out I'm a pretty good fencer!

But I finally woke up this morning and began to process what Kirsten had told me the night before. Our new trailer arrived, and not only did the dimshit delivery driver manage to cause significant damage, HE HAD BEEN SLEEPING IN OUR TRAILER AND LEFT HIS DIRTY CLOTHES BEHIND! The bracket that holds the front wheel is bent, the wires that link the trailer lights to the truck's lights had been cut clear through, and worst of all, he did enough damage to the brand new floor that it goes through the floorboards. We are livid. We are talking about getting a lawyer. This is the same idiot who "forgot" to get the envelope with the trailer keys out of his truck when he had what he said was an engine problem and had to transfer our trailer to a different carrier.

I'm serious, world, I can not handle anything else going wrong.

I mostly remember it.

For some reason, I was using a wheelchair with no or minimal use of my legs. Kirsten and I were at SFO flying somewhere. I was stressed due having to check my chair, use the uncomfortable, rickety, transfer chair provided by the airport, and the general stress of flying.

Luckily, I had my service animal with me, an African Grey parrot named Gandalf. We got boarded and ended up with a row to ourselves. now, the most dangerous time in flight is the 90 seconds after take-off and before landing. That's where dynamic instability is at maximum, winds can screw you, and there is no time to correct mistakes. So as we are taxiing out to the runway, my stress levels go through the roof. (This actually happens to me every time I fly.) Gandalf, sensing my state, nuzzles up to me and announces, loudly, "Chill the fuck out!" Which is what we trained him to say as a signal that I need to focus on getting centered.

People around us chuckle, and the flight attendant, doing her final seat check, stops and asks "what did he say?" Before I can answer, Gandalf thunders "YOU SHALL NOT PASS!" Flight attendant laughs and says, sorry, it's my job." and moves on.

The only other bit I remember is Gandalf, having hopped over to Kirsten, looking out the window and us joking about him feeling at home.

Had this one last night.

I was the President of the United States, and was speaking at the opening ceremonies of a Baltimore Worldcon. I was using the occasion to announce my administration's goal of landing not just a couple of test pilots, but a full scientific outpost on Mars. It was a good speech too. I invoked SF's history of predictions, the constant theme of discovery, and used Clarke's "The Haunted Spacesuit" for a laugh line. ("spoiler alert, it was a kitten.")

I finished by referencing JFK's speech at Rice in 1961, stating that going to Mars was going to be hard, it would take dedication, sweat and blood, but that is how we built this nation. We will go to Mars, to the asteroids, to the outer system, and someday, our descendants will go to the stars, not because it is easy, but because it is hard.

Standing ovation. The Republicans hated me.

During slow times at work, I've been catching up on past Hell's Kitchen seasons on Hulu. So I guess it wasn't surprising that I had a dream about it.

( Some HK geekery )

Got it?

OK, in the dream I was my age, but I was a retired Special Forces Master Sergeant with an artificial right leg. I had taken up cooking after being injured. One of the other blue team chefs, an arrogant young jerk, had decided I had been an Army cook, and constantly tried to ride me for that. The actual dream was in the dorm after a spectaculary bad dinner service where the arrogant young jerk had screwed the team. We had to choose two to be up for elimination, and I suggest AYJ for his poor performance. AYJ got pissed off, and tried to threaten me. That's when I got in his face and told him that I hadn't been an Army cook, but rather a Green Beret Operations/Weapons specialist. That's pretty much where the dream ended.

What's weird is I'm rather phobic about cooking, and even if I had gone career I would never have qualified for Special Forces. Also odd was I was seeing the action like it was in a show being broadcast, complete with narration, music, and changing camera angles.

I was going to some kind of company picnic, but I didn't work for the company. Everyone knew me, and I was welcome there, but it was clear that I was an outsider. The picnic was taking place on a grassy square with couple of oak trees. On three sides were Spanish Mission style buildings, red tile roofs, white stucco, lots of arches and covered walkways. After a short time, I needed to use the bathroom, and jogged over to where the signs said the restrooms were.

Inside the restrooms was where things got really odd. There were toilets with no stalls, washers and dryers, and library-style computer work stations all laid out at random in a maze of little pathways. Deeper in, things started merging. There were washing machines with toilet seats on top, and people using computers where the monitos were showing a tumble dryer in action. At this point, my brain said "you're dreaming about needing to use the bathroom. Wake up."

Stayed up last night to watch the live stream of the Man burning. The U-stream had an interesting approach, with three cameras being used. One was a long shot from across Black Rock City (which really gave a view of the apocalyptic cyberpunk vibe of the place at night) of the Man on his stand. The second was a really nice view of the fire dancers performing, and the third was from a crane mounted camera near the Man's base. You got two of the views as insets of the main view. The usual quality issues cropped up, but I figure getting to watch a live event happening in the middle of the desert is cool enough, so I'm not complaining.

But watching the whole thing pointed out another reason I'm not going.. the burn took forever! Based on the website's countdown clock, I tuned in about five minutes before the announced "The Man Burns" time. The fire dancers' routine took up a good forty minutes. Then, after they had dosed their source fires and tools, we got about fifteen minutes of very little activity except for some pretty impressive lasers blinding pilots on Mars. Then, the Man raised his arms, and there was a fireworks display that lasted roughly 20 minutes. Only after that were there a series of loud booms and fire engulfed the structure. Which then took close to half an hour to collapse. Even the crowd sounded a little weary when the structure finally fell apart.

I know that I don't get it, and I'm not saying that the people who do get it are wrong. Just not my thing.

Went to bed, and after my usual paranoia attack that happen when Kirsten isn't here (she normally comes to bed long after I do, so she locks the doors and makes sure everything is off. I always worry that I've missed something when she's not here.) I fell right to sleep. Woke up about 0730 with the fragments of a very strange dream in my head. All I can really remember clearly is setting off a M18A1 Claymore mine in my sister's room to prove some point.

"Do you remember where in orbit you left the forklift?" - me speaking to someone.

Yeah, it was a Kafka meets Warhol night in my head.

I had several last night (side effect of reading Tim Powers before bed, one suspects) but this is the one that stuck.

I was walking through what seemed to be a kind of mall or shopping plaza. I had a sense of urgency, like I was needed somewhere, but saw a comic shop and went in. Once inside, I went directly to the back and passed through a door. Behind this door was an octagon-shaped room with a very high ceiling. Arrayed around the room were other doors, and one staircase to a door on a higher level. For some reason, I left immediately back into the comic shop, where I realized I had lost my cell phone. I retraced my steps, but when I got back to the octagon room, I was overwhelmed with vertigo. I managed to stumble back into the shop, where Dave and Claire (two fannish friends) were watching as I fell to my knees then onto my face. I felt like I was under the influence of several g's.

Then I woke up.

Yeah, fever dreams and all that, but this one was odd.

I was a NFL running back, and one of the best of all time. But I hated it. I had played college ball for the free education, and had entered the draft because it was expected of me, picked first by the Chicago Bears (I don't even know who would have had the first pick in 1988) and proceeded to run wild, but all the time I didn't fit in. In the dream I suffered from terrible shyness, and hated the attention; but felt obligated to my teammates and fans to keep playing.

At the end of my career, I was the career leader in yards and touchdowns by a running back. A double handful of MVPs, SuperBowl rings, and ProBowl selections. And I couldn't wait to dump it all in Lake Michigan and get away.

The last bit I remember is being told that I've been elected to the Hall of Fame and almost screaming into the phone that I was finally free of football and i wasn't going to take part. The line I remember is "Put me in your hall, leave me out, whatever. I am not part of this anymore!"

Pretty strange.