I had a series of dreams where I just could NOT succeed at any of my goals. Gee, could this possibly be about my long drawn out attempts to recover from this last devastating surgery? Mebbe, maybe so.
In one, I was helping my father deliver some odd something or other to somebody or other's office on campus. I got lost in the art department where every painting studio looked like it belonged to Patrick Heron. The students were all very helpful until the angry bull showed up and then *poof* all the kids vanished. But then, so did the bull. I turned my back, turned around again and. Mr. Bull was no more than a pile of ash. Clearly, a vampire bull!
Did I succeed in helping my father?
In the other dream, I was helping a chum with a printing project. There was an error mid doc and I was having one hell of a time fixing it, despite how ridiculously simple it seemed.
Would I make the deadline? Maybe. Would I look like an untalented idiot to the friend who was originally so grateful for my assistance? Quite likely. Will I do all I need to do to go mobile once again. I hope so.
At home Physical and Occupation Therapy begins next week. It won’t be as frequent as it would have been at Marina Bay but, I expect, it’ll be better, more competent. Wouldn’t take much for any-damn-thing to be more competent than Marina Bay’s rehab facility.