After work today, I picked up my fiancée and we went back to my apartment. Over the last weekend, we had gone down to California, among other things, to pick up the remainder of her belongings from her parents, and bring them back to Texas. We got back Tuesday, but have not finished unloading all of her stuff from the U-Haul. You see, she has a lot of stuff. Some of it will go to her current apartment. A lot of it will stay in my apartment. Anything left over will be put in a storage unit. So, the U-Haul has been mostly sitting at my apartment complex since then, and she has been going through it to figure out what can go where. Since nothing is really organized in the truck, this process can take a while. Hopefully we’ll be done by Saturday, because that’s when we have to return the truck.

So, the result of all of this is that basically we have been moving her stuff into my apartment for most of the evening, and organizing it somewhat. Or in other words, we have been turning my apartment more into our apartment. It’s actually a pretty good feeling.

In between all the packing and stuff, we also played some board games, ate dinner while watching some TV, and so forth. When it came time to go, we got on my motorcycle, Jill, and headed back to her place. Right as I pulled onto the highway, I had a wonderful experience. One might call it an epiphany, but I will call it an inspired message.

Let me describe the situation. It was a cool night, about 70 degrees, but going down the road at 70 mph with my jacket partially open, the wind chill brought it down to about the upper 40s or lower 50s. It felt great. I was sitting atop my speedy little motorcycle, Jill. I wasn’t flying down the highway, giving her a real workout, but the feel of her warmth between my legs, the rumble of the pavement beneath, the movement as we swerve around the traffic is a wonderful feeling. And to top it all off, sitting behind me, is an amazing, beautiful, fantastic woman, whom I love with everything I have, and who will soon be my wife. My fiancée, Kali, is sitting there, and I can feel her legs against my thighs, and her hands resting lightly on my waist. I’m reminded of all that we’ve shared, and all that she means to me.

As this is happening, a feeling comes over me. But it wasn’t just a feeling, it was a message from my God. He said to me, “Daniel,” (He always calls me “Daniel,” never “Dan”) “I have put you here to have joy. The people I have placed in your life, and the experiences I have given you are for that purpose. Cherish them.”

I truly have a blessed life. My family (present and future), my friends, my good times, and my bad times make me a better person, and bring me more joy. I don’t know if I’ll ever understand why the Lord blesses me so, but I know that he does, and for that, I am truly grateful.

Last week, I got really angry. I’m not going to talk about why I got angry, because to do so would require me to violate the privacy of the person at whom I was angry. Let’s just say that I felt like I’d been done wrong, and I was royally pissed because of it.

So, I needed some way to deal with this anger. I needed to blow it off, somehow. My first idea was to get on my bike, go to the tollway (very little traffic), and just drive. This may seem like an odd thought, but motorcycle riding can actually be very therapeutic. It’s quite cathartic, and an emotional release was what I felt I needed. However, in my condition at that time, I would have likely just driven as fast as my bike would take me, and if I didn’t get pulled over for speeding and have to pay the largest ticket in the history of mankind, then I probably would’ve crashed, and if I was lucky, died. I say “if I was lucky” not because I felt like I wanted to die, but rather because, were I to crash going at the speed I surely would have been going, I would have been better off dying than surviving the crash, because no amount of protection can keep one from harm at those speeds. I would’ve ended up a vegetable for the rest of my life, or severely disabled.

So, luckily, I had enough good sense not to get on my bike right then, but I still needed to do something. I looked around my apartment, and one can’t look very far around my apartment without seeing a blade of some sort. I have knives, daggers, and swords decorating the walls of my apartment, and right then, I wanted to use them. I tried to think if there was something nearby that I could stab and slash without hurting anybody, without making a significant mess, and without paying for any damage I would inflict. I could think of nothing.

So, my next thought was violent video games. I figured slashing, shooting, and generally killing would be a useful outlet for my anger. So, I popped in Wolfenstein 3D (a classic), turned on all the cheats, and played at the highest difficulty. I didn’t want anything to stand in my way of killing as many Nazis as I could. Unfortunately, I didn’t have a cheat to give me all keys, so I ended up at a location where I couldn’t find a key, and therefore couldn’t progress in the game. And I had already killed all the Nazis on that level. I gave up in frustration.

So, then I switched to a fighting game: Bleach: Shattered Blade. This game has the added benefit of utilizing the Wii’s motion-sensing technology, so instead of just pushing buttons, I’m actually swinging the Wiimote around, as if a sword. I thought, for sure, this would help me work out my negative energy. After a few rounds of intense slashing, stabbing, et cetera, I was very tried, but still angry.

You see, I learned there that there’s no such thing as “negative energy.” (Stephen Hawking would disagree with me, but I’m talking about in an emotional/metaphysical sense, not a physical one.) It may be true that anger gets endorphins pumping, which gives one energy, but that’s not negative energy, it’s just energy brought on by negative emotions. By trying to get rid of the energy, I was treating a symptom, not the disease.

So, as I sat there in my chair at my desk, tired, trying to catch my breath, angry, and not knowing what to do about it. I was just so very angry, and there was nothing I could do to satiate my hatred. I needed to rail against the person who had wronged me so. I pulled up a chat log on my computer that I had had with this person. You see, a couple days before, we were the best of friends, and it was only through some unusual circumstances, which I still don’t understand, that I had become this person’s enemy. I read these chats, and found some advice I had given. My anger started to subside as I realized how much I cared for this person. I was angry because I had been pushed away, when I was trying to help.

I dropped to my knees and prayed for forgiveness. That was what I needed to do to get rid of my anger all along. Nothing but the grace of God could satisfy me in that hour of need. The love I had previously felt for this person returned, and all anger disappeared. Why I didn’t turn to God in the first place, I cannot say, but at least, in the end, I found the solace, not that I was seeking, but that I actually needed.

As a side note, one other thing I did take away from this experience is the need I have for something to be able to test my swords. I’m thinking some sort of mannequin-like thing, maybe made out of styrofoam, that I can cut, stab, slash, and generally destroy, and then once it’s no longer usable, throw out. I think it’d be very useful for me to have such a thing, and if anyone knows where I can get something like that, I’d very interested to hear it.

Yesterday, I had my interview for the JET Program. The interview was held in the Allen Center in Houston, TX. Since my brother lives in Houston, I went down the night before and stayed with him. He also wanted to help me change the oil on my motorcycle, since he knows I’m horrible about maintaining my bike, so we could kill two birds with one stone.

My interview was in the morning at 10:40. They asked that, because of space constraints, we not arrive more than 25 minutes early. I didn’t know exactly where the Allen Center was, and I’m not that familar with downtown, so I left an hour ahead of my appointment. I figured, if I got there early, I could hang around downtown until my appointment. I had already printed out directions from Google Maps. So, I got on my best suit, and headed out about 9:30.

When I’m on my motorcycle, I tend to talk to myself, or sing. As I was going to the interview, I considered practicing the answers I intended to give, but I had already practiced those to death, and figured that would just make me more nervous. So instead, I decided to sing hymns to myself. This helped calm me a lot. Especially as I sang my favorite children’s hymn A Child’s Prayer. It also helped me from getting frustrated at the poor drivers on the road. (Seriously, do they teach in Houston Driver’s Ed that the turn signal is for initiating the car’s self-destruct sequence?) Anyway, I found the building and nearby parking really easily. As I expected, I was early. So I took the time to fix my hair (stupid helmet hair), make sure I looked dang good, and when it was 10:15, I headed up.

I had to wait a little while since I was early. They had a waiting room prepared for us. There were a couple other interviewees already there. They had a JET alumnus, who worked at the consulate, there as well to answer any questions we might have about the interview or the program. He was really helpful, and it was nice to have him there to explain exactly what was going to happen.

When it was my turn, another JET alumnus showed up to call me back. I was being interviewed by three people. The JET alum who brought me back, who was an American about my age, and two older Japanese gentlemen. One of them, who had a very thick accent and was a bit difficult to understand, looked about in his mid-40s, while the other looked to be in his mid- to late-50s.

They took turns asking questions. They would each ask a few, and then let someone else ask some more. The JET alum started, and he asked some of the basic questions I was expecting, like, why do I want to be an English teacher in Japan. For those questions I felt I was very prepared, but I ended up only saying a few of the many things I had prepared to say. I think part of the reason for that was that I had to adapt my answers to the specific way they were asking the questions, but part of it was just nerves making me forget some of the stuff I had practiced. Even so, I felt I answered most of those questions pretty well.

The oldest guy there had several questions that I wasn’t expecting at all. They knew that I’m Mormon, since I talked about serving a mission for the church in the application. I expected that they might ask some questions about my mission, but I wasn’t sure what. They didn’t ask any, but the older guy did ask a couple questions regarding religion. For example, he mentioned that, as I probably already knew (I did), Japan is not a Christian country, but is primarily Buddhist. He wanted to know how I, as a Christian, would cope with living in such an environment. I’m not entirely sure if the answer I gave was very good, but I talked about how a person’s religion doesn’t affect how I interact with them. I mentioned that I’ve had a Buddhist roommate in the past, and that never was a problem. After the interview was over, I realized I should have pointed out that while I am a Christian in a Christian nation, as a Mormon, I’m not unaccustomed to being in the minority, so that wouldn’t change that much.

He also mentioned that drinking is very common in Japan, and wondered how I would feel if I were expected to go out with my co-workers to have some drinks and go to karaoke. I think my answer was pretty good. I talked about having plenty of experience (in college) of going to partys where the primary activity was drinking, and that it was never a problem for anyone (myself or others) that while they were drinking beer, I was drinking soda, or water. I should have also mentioned that I love karaoke, so I would jump at the opportunity to go to karaoke with my co-workers. He also talked a bit about me being an ambassador of the United States, and how I felt about that.

All in all, I feel that I gave good answers, and that they were fairly satisfied with my responses. Of course, the decision isn’t up to those three. They send their impressions of me on to the foks in Tokyo, who make the final decision. Now I have to wait until April to find out if I got accepted. Keep watch here for updates when they come, and keep me in your prayers.

Edit, P.S.: I forgot to mention the most surprising part of the interview. On my application, I stated that I don’t know any Japanese. Even so, the older guy asked me to introduce myself in Japanese. Luckily, I was able to muster up a very short introduction (Hello. My name is Dan Jones. Nice to meet you). I definitely wasn’t ready for that!

So, today is my first day back at work after the holidays. My whole department got two weeks off for Christmas and New Year’s and I spent most of it lying in my bed thinking I was going to die.

First, I went up to Carthage, TX to spend Christmas with my family. I had had a cough since about October, and it was almost gone when I left Austin. When I got to Carthage, I discovered that my cough decided to pick back up. So, I spent Christmas and a few days after coughing. Not a big deal, but unpleasant.

On the 29^th, I headed back down to Austin. It was a great ride. Long, mostly empty, curvy country roads to go nice and fast. Very fun! I noticed something very strange when I got home and started to settle in, though. I was sore all over my body. I couldn’t figure out why that would be. I figured it out later, though. The flu was setting in, and was making me physically weak: as weak as a baby kitten. You see, the soreness was caused by strong winds (when you’re riding a motorcycle at 70 mph, all you’ve got are strong winds) pressing against my body. But at the time I couldn’t figure out what it was and by the next day, with the soreness gone, I forgot.

That day, though, I was starting to feel a bit of malaise. Nothing very specific, just a general feeling of unease. The day after (New Year’s Eve) was much the same. That night, there was a church dance. I was excited for this, although with a greater feeling of unwellness setting in, my excitement was waning. The dance was pretty fun, but I was having trouble keeping up with everything. When I would dance to the fast songs, I would get a headache. Finally, I just decided to sit them out altogether and be a wallflower. I had a reasonably good time talking with my friends, and occasionally dancing to the slow songs. At one point, one of my friends came up to me and asked me if I would give her a blessing, as she was feeling sick. I didn’t mind, and we went into a room off to the side, along with our bishop, so he and I could give her a blessing. She knew I was feeling unwell, and after the blessing, she said to our bishop, "You know, Dan’s been feeling sick, too." "Well, I can give you a blessing, too," he says. "No, I’ll be fine. If I’m worse in the morning, I’ll get one from my roommates," I stubbornly respond.

Well, the evening proceded, we watched the ball drop at midnight, and then they served breakfast right after. By that time, I was feeling very unwell, so as soon as I ate my breakfast, I went home without any socializing. The next morning, I could barely get out of bed. Soreness all over my body yet again (riding home), a cough that no cough drop at my disposal could stop, a pounding headache, and a general feeling that nothing was right in the world. I stumble out of my room to see my roommate Russ lying on the coutch. "Russ, I’m gonna need you to give me a blessing," I’m barely able to vocalize. Russ was the only one home who could give the blessing, and we wanted another to assist, so we called up some friends who lived down the street. One of them was on his way home, so he stopped by, and they gave me a great blessing that left me feeling like maybe I wouldn’t actually die right at the moment.

My other roommate, Rodd, went out and got me some better drugs than we had in the house, including some cough drops that actually include an anesthetic, which is much more effective than traditional cough drops. At least with this medicine, I wasn’t in complete pain and misery. Despite the drugs, though, I would still occasionally erupt into a coughing fit. If I tried to eat anything, the coughing would usually accompany throwing up. Sometimes, when I hadn’t even eaten anything, I would throw up. I’m not sure what was coming up (I assume stomach acid), but it was disgusting. The fever that had set in meant I was constantly sweating. My entire head was constantly soaked. All that salt on my scalp made it so that I could actually feel where my hair follicles came out my scalp. I fealt like I was some sort of male Gorgon.

That night brought the hallucinations. I’m still not sure what I was hallucinating, but a feeling of uncertainty ran through the entire episode. As I was trying to get to sleep that night, I started to see things. I’m not sure what these things were. I didn’t know where I was, when I was, who I was, or even what I was. I was floating through a sea of ambiguity, with random sounds, images, colors, tastes, and smells. Nothing was familar, but since I didn’t even know if I was human, that wasn’t too surprising. At one point, back in the real world, my hand slipped down my face, forcing me back for a moment. I tried to ground myself and figure out was going on, when I fell back into the trance. This went on for some time longer, until I tried to force myself back. I succeeded, but again, only for a moment. After a while, I tried again, and this time, when I came back, I sat up in my bed, to help ground me in reality. I looked around for a moment, still confused. I was still not sure who, or what I was. Suddenly it came flooding back, and I said it all out loud. "Your name is Daniel Jones. You live in Austin, TX. You’re an actor, and a website designer. You work for the University of Texas …" This went on until I was absolutely sure I knew who I was, and I wasn’t about to slip back into whatever-the-crap-that-was. I got a drink of water, then went to the bathroom. I had another coughing fit, and threw up in the toilet some more. I wondered if this thing was going to kill me, but was sure it wasn’t, because I was promised in a blessing that I would get better. I HAD to believe that. I went back to bed, and this time, fell asleep properly.

The next day brought much the same as the day before. My roommates did their best to take care of me. I just laid on the couch, coughed, slept, and sweated. I would try to eat, and would usually fail. One thing I had noticed the day before was that if I laid flat on my back, I coughed less. I also noticed that if I laid on my back for a while, I would get a pain near the top-right corner of my back. I tried this day to work it out with the massage chair. It helped a bit, but it would just come back when I laid down for a while. I tried lying on my side, but that wasn’t as comfortable, and I discovered that if I did that, I would get a pain in my side. It was from this that I realized that I had become incredibly weak. My body was no longer strong enough to support its own weight. I would just have to deal with the pain, and hope it would end soon, and take Extra-Strength Tylenol™.

The next day brought a little bit of hope. I hadn’t hallucinated the night before. I was no longer getting pains from lying down. On the down-side, I had now watched EVERYTHING on our DVR, so I had to watch live TV. Of course, I had stuff downloaded that I could watch, but that meant I’d have to switch the TV from the DVR, to the computer, and controlling your shows with a keyboard, rather than a remote, is quite a hassle, and I was really not feeling up to it.

The next day was Sunday. I wasn’t well enough yet to go to church, but I had improved a huge amount over the night. I felt like this was actually nearing its end. I was actually going to survive! I probably could’ve actually managed to make it through the three hours of church, but I felt like my coughing would’ve been so distracting to everyone, that I was better staying home.

Apparently, that day, the couple of people who hadn’t already heard I was ill were informed at church. I got so many facebook messages, txts, IM messages and so forth from people enquiring after my health. It was nice to know that so many people were concerned for me.

By the next day, I was actually well enough that I could eat food! That was good, because I had checked my weight on Wii Fit. It said I had lost over 8 pounds while I was sick. Wii Fit told me I was losing weight too fast, and needed to focus more on maintaining my health. That’s a pretty smart game. I was also feeling well enough that day that I could actually leave the house all on my own. I only went to the gas station and the grocery store (to buy more cough drops), but that was a major improvement. That night was our monthly AARP-FHE. It was on the north-ish side of town. I didn’t go there on my own, but I did go. There was a potluck dinner, and I ate a little. Then I managed through all of the lesson, and socializing afterwards. I was definitely feeling good about my improvement.

And that brings us to today. Last night I actually got a full night’s sleep. Today, I brought myself to work, and my coughing is just barely there. By tomorrow, I may not need the cough drops anymore.

And so, that is my adventure with my Christmas flu. I learned two very important things from this. First, I learned that I have an awful lot of friends who really care about me, and are there to take care of me whenever I need it. I guess they know that I would do the same for any of them. Second, I learned that if someone is offering free flu shots (to all UT faculty, staff, and students), I should take it.

So, I came in from filming today, and as usual, as I’m approaching the driveway, I hit the button on the garage door opener in my pocket to open the garage for me to drive right into the garage. However, unlike usual, I was going ever so slightly faster than I usually do to pull into the garage. This is probably due to the lack of cars in the driveway for me to skirt between, and the lack of trailer in the garage for me to squeeze up against.

Anyway, I realize I’m coming in too fast, and that the door won’t be open enough for me when I reach it, so I slow down a little, and duck. Apparently, I didn’t slow down enough and/or duck low enough, because right as I pass the garage’s threshold, I slam into the garage door.

I’m not sure how I made it all the way in the garage without falling off my bike after that, but somehow I did. Now, I’m not hurt. Apparently motorcycle helmets are not only good against concrete, but also large metal doors. Anyway, it was a strange and interesting experience, but not one I would recommend to others.

P.S. My garage door no longer opens and closes, as of 3am this morning (14 December 2008). I don’t know if that’s related to my collision with it.

So, you know what annoys me? People that nearly kill me. You know what annoys me more? When those people get mad at me when they nearly kill me.

This morning, I was heading to work. I was on MoPac, in the far left lane. I decided to move to the center lane, so I carefully checked that it was clear, and then moved over. Shortly after I move over, I hear a loud honk rather close to me. I look to my right and see a big ‘ole SUV just behind me trying to push into my spot, or more accurately, trying to run me over. I speed up, and swerve slightly to the left to avoid being flattened by this behemoth.

So, how do I know it was his fault and not mine? Very simple. When I change lanes, after making sure the lane is clear, I move quickly into the nearest part of the lane: in this case, the left side of the lane. Then I slowly slide to the center of the lane. When the gas-guzzling maniac this morning honked at me, I was already in the center of the lane. I had been in the lane for a few seconds already. This dorkus barely had his front left wheel in the lane, although that was changing rapidly, as he barreled into my place. There was no way he started to change lanes before I did, and since I was in front of him, if he had pulled his face from the interior of his rectum for a moment, he would’ve clearly seen my bright yellow motorcycle in the very space he was attempting to enter.

Now, I’m sure it wasn’t maliciousness on his part, but rather carelessness. My vehicle, while bright, is small. Surely anyone with two eyes and half a brain cell would have seen that I was definitely in the center lane when he began to move into it, but perhaps he only has a quarter of a brain cell. In that case, I surely can’t hold him accountable.

Now, just in case that failure of a person is reading this right now, I have a suggestion for you. Before you get in your car again, I think you may want to see your doctor. It’s possible there’s a surgical procedure that can remove your head from your anus, which would definitely help when you’re on the road next time. Barring that, maybe you should become familiar with Capital Metro. They provide a great service, and would definitely help you avoid any more problems like the one we had this morning.

A friend of mine recently told me about The JET Programme. This is a program run by the Japanese government to get English speakers to come to Japan. I’ve been feeling lately like I need to go somewhere (well, to be honest, I always feel like I need to go somewhere), and I’ve wanted to go to Japan for a while. Also, one of my goals in life is to able to converse in at least one language native to every continent. I’ve already got Europe covered with English and German. I chose Japanese for Asia, mainly because I watch a lot of anime.

Well, this program seems like something I would really enjoy. I think I would really like living in Japan, and I think it would be great to be able to teach children English. Living in Japan would give me great experience with the Japanese language, so hopefully after living there for a year, I should at least be able to hold a conversation.

So, the program is basically a year-long contract. I apply at the Japanese embassy, and if I’m accepted, they arrange for me to get a contract with a school somewhere in Japan. The contract lasts for one year, and at the end of that year, if I and the school would like, I can renew my contract for another year. I can do that four times, for a total of five years. The application for next year should be available this Thursday, and if I’m accepted, I would leave for Japan late next July or early August.

Of course, the hardest part would be being away from my friends and family, whom I love. I wouldn’t lose contact, of course. Between email, IM, telephone, and Facebook, it’d be like I’m practically still here in Austin, except that I wouldn’t be.

The other difficulty would be Joe Stryker. Now that we’ve finally got it off the ground, I’d hate to put it on hold for an indeterminate amount of time. I’ve already decided that if I do go, I’ll take a webcam with me, and will still do StrykerMail clips. Plus, maybe we’ll know an animator or two by then and can switch the format to an animated show. That would be fun. In any case, we’d try to film as many episodes before I leave as we can.

But as for me wanting to do this, there is no question. It may seem impulsive. I heard about this program on Saturday, and now I’ve already decided I want to uproot my life, and go to Japan. But I feel like it’s something that would be really good for me, and maybe I would be able to help others, in the process.

I’d certainly like to hear what you guys think about it.

So, I recently helped a friend move, and I’ve had a lot of experience over the past several years both helping people move, and being helped move, so I thought I’d write a couple tips about best practices for the person being moved.

First off, if the friend I helped move is reading this, don’t take it as an indictment against you at all. Even though you didn’t follow all the suggestions set forth here, it certainly wasn’t unpleasant. It was actually a fairly easy move. Now, let’s get on to it.

Firstly, the single most important thing is to be absolutely completely ready for them. Let me clarify what that means. When your friends arrive, make sure every single thing is packed up and ready to go. And make sure it’s all packed up well. Go get some boxes. Don’t throw your random knick-knacks into a laundry hamper; put them in a box or suitcase. Hanging clothes should be put into a garment box or hanging garment bag. Don’t expect them to do any packing at all. They’re there to help you carry stuff; that’s all. And if possible, gather all your stuff in an easy-to-get-to location.

Secondly, for goodness sakes, feed them. You’re not paying them, so you could at least give them some food. Food afterwards is good, but food beforehand is better. But not all food is ideal. Don’t feed them something heavy or greasy beforehand. That’ll make them groggy and make it harder for them (which will, consequently make it take longer). Before the move, something light that provides quick but lasting energy is good. Pastries and doughnuts is a great idea, because they provide both simple and complex carbohydrates. The simple will give immediate energy, while the complex will break down later and help them keep working. If you have a lot of stuff and the move will take a while, consider providing food both before and after. The food after can be something heavier (like pizza). And especially if you live in a hot climate, make sure there’s plenty of water easily available the whole time, in both locations.

Third, make sure you survey the areas through which things will be moved and try to identify problem spots beforehand, and try to work out what will probably be the easiest way around them. It makes things a lot easier if they know they’re going to carry a piano up three narrow flights of stairs (please don’t ever ask anyone to do that).

Finally, don’t give them a hard time at all. If they need to take a five-minute break, just let them, and don’t even jokingly criticize them for doing so. You are not paying them, so don’t expect them to work like they are. Don’t expect them to be professional movers, because they aren’t. If they nick the edge of your furniture, just ignore it. If you can’t afford any damage to come to your stuff, hire movers.

Right now I had planned to be at a dance at church. I was looking forward to it, because it’s been a while since I’ve been to a dance, but I had an experience that kept me from it.

Earlier today, I was at a film shoot. The shoot was in an abandoned building. There was no electricity and therefore no air conditioning, and it got quite hot. So, when I got home, I was quite tired, and decided to take a nap. I was going to nap for maybe an hour, then take a shower, and head off to the dance. So, after taking care of a couple things, I laid down on my roommate’s couch. Then was brought forth an event like no other. It was as if the couch did something to my mind, for I did not simply nap, but rather sleep was thrust upon me.

As I awoke, several hours later, I felt as if I were in another world. I looked around the darkened living room, and tried to determine where and when I was. To what distant land had I traveled? In what time had I found myself? Wasn’t I supposed to be dancing right now? For a few seconds, I wasn’t even sure of my own identity. So powerful was this sleep that my mind was still trying to remain in Dreamland, after the land had already withered away.

After about a minute or so of flitting to and fro between worlds, I was finally able to ground myself back in reality and determine exactly who, where, and when I was. But even now, half an hour later, my mind is still trying to pull me back to that Land of Nod, which I have recently departed. Such is the power of my roommate’s couch.

When I was a child, I saw an episode of the Batman cartoon in which Bruce Wayne was trapped in a dream created by a machine made by the Mad Hatter. In this episode, Bruce discovers that he is dreaming because he can’t read. He claims that dreaming and reading are functions of opposite hemispheres of the brain, so it’s impossible to read in a dream. I always remembered that episode because I knew it was completely bogus the first time I saw it. I remembered reading in dreams. I knew it was possible. This was just another example of script writers who don’t do proper research.

I was just reminded of this episode when I awoke from a strange dream of my own. In this dream, I was part of some sort of competition. I think it was some sort of church activity and each of the wards were competing against each other. I believe it was an academic competition. There were several parts to it, and each ward had to select just one member to do each part. In one of the parts, we were asked to write a eulogy for a dead dog. Whoever wrote the best one would win. For some reason, I was selected to do this part. I was given biographical information, including a newspaper article that was written about him while he was still alive. There was something famous about this dog, but I don’t remember what. Part of it was his advanced age. He was 19 when he died. As I was working on this eulogy, I wanted to figure out how old he was in dog-years. There was a blackboard in the room they gave us to work, and so I wrote 19 × 7. For some reason, I couldn’t do the math. It didn’t make any sense. I screwed it up, so scratched it out, and started calculating again. I still couldn’t do it. I erased it with my hand, and wrote it again. This old man from one of the other wards was walking by the room, and saw my difficulty. He came in and tried to help. He pointed to what I was doing wrong, but he couldn’t figure it out either!

Then I woke up. This inability to do elementary school mathematics forced me out of my sleep. As soon as I was awake, I did the math in my head, and learned it was 133. Just to make sure I wasn’t crazy, I checked it with a calculator. Of course it was right, it’s a simple calculation, but I couldn’t do it in my sleep! It made me think of poor Bruce being unable to read a book. Though unlike Bruce, who couldn’t even make out the letters, I could clearly see and understand what the numbers were (I wrote them), I just couldn’t do anything with them. It was nearly the most frustrating experience of my life.