Joey was away for a couple of respite nights at a group home. Melissa and I planned to take a trip and visit some friends, but stuff of a maximum suck nature came up at work. So I had to stay closer to the “shop” and its drama and games.
It wasn’t wasted time, thank God. Still got to think through some things, put work in a better perspective, and remember that care giving isn’t always the stinkiest thing in the world. In fact, it can bring some warmth into a cold world. More about that in a bit. It will be dreamy.
The next day, we went to a little girl’s birthday party with a princess theme. Well, pirates, too, but it was mostly girls so piracy was a nod to the few males present. And we weren’t all that swashbuckling but we talked a lot of baseball.
Auction to raise funds for a young husband and dad who is losing his sight was our Sunday afternoon. From there we went to pick up Joey.
The three of us enjoyed our little reunion. The group home staff reported that they’d made some won tons and that Joey had consumed most of those. Joey had spent a bit of his activity cash but wouldn’t tell us how. But he was happy to be home and I found myself enjoying the return of his routines (I’ll be whining about them again soon, I’m sure).
OK, I said I’d share about the dreamy stuff. The stress of work kept me up late, thinking through this ‘n’ that. I fell into sleep and Joey showed up in a dream that went like this:
Joey and I arrived near the beach in my Chevy Cobalt. We found a parking lot with a crowd of people who were impressed that it didn’t cost anything to park there. But most of them were bicyclists, lamenting that there were no racks to secure bikes.
My bike was parked there, which makes no sense since Joey and I had arrived in a car. But there it was, and I decided to store it in the Chevy. Which makes no sense because the car is too small.
But in the dream, the seats could flatten out and make the whole interior a storage bay. So I started taking out the beach supplies to make room for the bike. Joey stood alongside the car, clapping his hands and doing autistic stuff.
When I turned around to swing the bike into the car, Joey had put all the beach stuff back in. He was smiling and chortling about it.
So I set the bike down and started taking stuff out, only to find him putting stuff back in.
Thing is, I became happy. The stress of my waking thoughts about work stupidity was displaced by this dream that had me ready to laugh. And Joey was key to that dream.
I suppose the dream has deep meaning that some wise person will bring out.
But for me, it seems that the familiar frustrations of taking care of Joey (even in dream form) can be a sweet and welcome contrast to the vicious crap that supposedly “normal” life can bring.