Dream of: 12 August 2019 "Cruelly Ironic Words"

 My father (1942-2016) has come to visit me in the city in which I have been living for a while - perhaps Cincinnati. I am sitting in the front passenger seat of a car which he is driving. We start talking and I tell him that Birdie (my steady girlfriend from 1968 to 1972) also lives here. I know that he never really liked Birdie and that he would not want me to be seeing her. I tell him that I have already seen her once. I know that it takes about an hour to drive to where she lives. I tell him that I am actually not interested in seeing Birdie, but that I would like to meet her daughter. I am thinking to myself that the possibility still exists that I am the father of Birdie's daughter. I tell my father that when I recently saw Birdie, her daughter was not present.

My father and I end up at Birdie's apartment. We step inside and walk around. I notice a stack of envelopes and letters which Birdie appears to have been writing.

I start talking with Birdie. I notice that she appears nervous about our presence because she is worried that her daughter is going to show up. I think I should tell Birdie that I am not going to mention anything about the possibility of my being the father of Birdie's daughter. I do not think Birdie wants me to bring up that subject because I do not think that she has ever told her daughter anything about me. She does not want her daughter to know about this.

I hear someone call for the adjoining room, and I suddenly remember that my father and I brought my brother Chris (1957-1974) with us when we came. Chris is calling from the adjoining room. I walk into the other room and see him sitting there. He wants the fan turned on. To turn on the fan, I first have to move a desk. I pull out one of the drawers from the desk and the bottom falls out of the drawer. All kinds of papers fall all over the place onto the floor.

I again notice the stack of envelopes and also four or five bills next to the envelopes and I realize that Birdie had been paying bills.

I have this mess all over the place now and the whole room seems to be chaotically falling apart.

The fan is a floor fan and I do not know if it works. I plug it in, and a box fan comes on on the other side of the room. Obviously I have plugged in the wrong fan.

A television which is not working is also in the room. Chris says that he would also like to watch the television. I to not know if the television works, and I say something like, "You don't always get what you want."

I then almost say, "You've probably figured that out by now."

I immediately begin thinking how potent were my words. I reflect that Chris cannot even move due to his muscular dystrophy. My words "You don't always get what you want" seem cruelly ironic in light of Chris's completely debilitating affliction. Obviously he doesn't always get what he wants - he cannot even move.

Chirrs is becoming so big, and I am becoming so old, I do not even know if I can lift him anymore if I need to move him. He is probably about fifteen years old. I think the time may be coming when he may have to go into a nursing home. I think if that happens, he probably will not live long. He would not be happy in a nursing home.

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