Patch Dream #82 (to be filed in the annals of Medical Nicotine)

In Richmond for the days after the holidays. I needed to see a therapist. It was gray and I was lost* with regard for direction in my life.

Over the phone, "Can I schedule an appointment to see you today?"

"Yes," she said. "It's been a long time and I'm interested to hear how you are doing. Let's set the appointment for 4:00."

"Yes, that that sounds good. I'll see you at 4:00."

"Ok, Kevin."

I closed my phone and sat down in the living room. Somebody brought me some mail that had come. There was an official looking letter that my brother brought to me asking what it was. I opened it. Inside were court papers and some yellow carbon copies. "Pursuant to Rule ________ you are hereby ordered to attend counseling for mental health. . ." What was this about?

"What's that all about?" Steve asked.

"I don't know, I'll ask her when I get there. Can you take me?"

He agreed. We left the West End at 3:15. Her office was in Shockoe Slip. For some reason we parked half way between home and her office in the basement garage of a building. The garage rented bicycles and I suppose Steve thought it would be a good idea to bike the rest of the way. Getting out of the car I felt my phone vibrating and I opened it. A text message:

"%%%#%##FWD:';I walked in to the r^oom and there stood MY HUSBAN&D, drinking a bottle of&$##"

The hell? Where did that, no, WHO did that come from? Who was it forwarded to? Immediately the phone was vibrating again:

"You have 1 New video"

PLAY. There I stood, on the video, in a room, possibly even a house I've only seen on an old family Super 8 film from before I was born. But there I was, standing with a beer in my hand and my infant nephew on his stomach on the bed in the sun. I heard myself slurredly say something friendly to the baby and watch as it began to crawl forward unexpectedly towards the edge of the bed. In the video I looked quickly for some place to put the beer down so I could stop him but I couldn't in time and the baby fell off the side of the bed and there was only quiet and my audible frantic worry. In the video I ran to the other side of the bed and as I watched the video I feared the baby had broken his neck or fractured his skull. I watched myself pick him up and stand him upright and was relieved to see that my nephew was now about 3 years old and had only scuffed his knee**. In the video I looked towards the camera with a look of relief and shook my head but in watching the video I grew incredibly angry.

Which was more scary, that I didn't have any recollection of this ever happening? Or that she was sending, or had sent, this sanctimonious account of an experience to someone who, reviewing it, was in a position to order me into counseling or fear not being allowed in the presence of my nephew? Quick. Think! What is this?! What is this about? Now nearly 2 years from our divorce? 3 years since I've had any f--ing meaningful contact with her, probably even more than that!!!! My blood began to boil and as I've learned, so expertly so, I began to step back in my mind to see the larger picture. This was no time for emotion, this was time for quick thinking and quick action. Yes, indeed, I did believe I was beginning to understand what was happening and why. Some things don't ever change, do they? I will never cease to be amazed, will I, at how many consequences continue to arise out my errors in judgment, out of my poor decisions during that ever so brief period of my life? This type of thing will likely follow me forever and it will always be a shock, you better just get used to that right now. Eventually, as have most things, through repetition, the shocks will become less shocking. Won't they?. . . . . . Won't they?

In an excruciatingly frustrating turn of events, a series of wrong turns, detours, and tire flats left me walking up to the door of my therapist's building at 6:30. I knew she wouldn't see me but I felt I needed to show her I tried. I knocked at the door, hearing voices inside, and my therapist opened it. I looked past her to a room filled with some single women and couples, all with infant children.

"You're very late, Kevin, but please come on in, everybody agreed to wait for you so let's hurry up."

This is all some kind of misunderstanding, I thought. A group of mothers and couples here to teach me how to handle and hold a child? How to be attentive? Some education class about children? For me and my supposed inadequacy as presented to the court, to my therapist? Oh boy, I thought to myself as I watched an instruction on how to change a diaper. Just wait until the truth beneath all of this comes out. Yes, just you wait, I thought and smiled at the mother standing next to me.





*The tone of the dream can simply be related to the patch as I'm currently feeling the best I have in years

**No infants were harmed prior to, during, or after the making of this dream. Even the timeline, when translated into real life events, makes the creation of such a video impossible, recall.