I looked at the clock. 27:10. Great ,wonderful my funny in the head math thing is acting up again. Math dyslexia (dyscalculia) has been one of the biggest things I have struggled with my whole life. It is a strange little beast. When I working on ambulances saving lives, checking pulses , wondering why women hadn’t started fan clubs about me like they do in the TV shows, making sure forms are filled out properly so the person does not, for example , die because I misread the number and then put it in the wrong box my dyscalculia takes a nap. Apparently when I was out saving lives dyscalculia felt it was not a good time to come out to play.
However, when I am up to non-life threatening situations I am all fair game. Airports and getting to airplane on time tends to be a favorite time. I cannot not count how many times I checked my ticket to see what gate I was at only to have found out when I get there that the planes are not going to the right places. I look at the ticket again and the numbers switch themselves and with elfish laughter prove to be numbers way on the other of the airport. So I have to walk quickly to the other end of the airport ,and when I am especially lucky a whole different terminal, and hope that the plane is boarding. And the same scene plays in my mind.
Airport staff: Ah! So you are the one holding up the plane. Are you an idiot?
Me: No Ma’am not just any idiot I am a very special kind of idiot.
I look at the clock again. 10:27. Okay that makes much more sense and I am much more late. Not only am I late but I am being politely waited on to get out of my motel room so they can clean it. I like this time of day because I have to leave moiy room. Long gone are my days of being productive since I first arrived back home. Now I normally just stay in my room . Going outside leads to awkward conversations that I would rather avoid. Where am I staying? Am I visiting family. All sorts of things that I am not very happy to answer.
I go and push open the door. it does not budge. I push it again.
“You are not going to go anywhere” said the man in the tweed jacket . He is sweating profusely and pushes up his jacket. I look at the air conditioner and notice it is turned up to th e max setting, which seems to be just a little bit colder than the crisp Seattle morning. The blond ,in her t-shirt that was two sizes two small and a mini skirt that left very little to the imagination, sitting next to him seemed the most likely culprit.
“You look nice as a blond” I told her.
“Thanks” she chirped
“Don’t encourage her” said the man in the glasses. He protested while angrily pushing up his glasses which refused to stay on his nose.
“Listen, both of you, you are literary devices . What are you doing in my dream and not , oh I don’t know , maybe helping me with my writing?!”
“You need to get out of here” said the blond.