A Word or Two as I Drift Off to Sleep...

I got grumpy yesterday.

Oh, I had reasons. The sort of reasons that are reasonable, except the fervor to pursue wasn't.

I was irritated at someone, I pushed the right pressure points, I got what I thought was right.

It was one of many things in the background, making me grumpy.

I had a dream I can’t shake. A strange one. Nothing theological, or insightful, just strange. It was about a native American girl who journeyed through mountains on a mighty journey, and as she walked a narrator told her story. She walked down forest covered valleys, snow capped peaks towered above. As the story unfolded, the colors slowly shifted to brown, her sepia form becoming a drawing, and then lines in a book, fading to brown letters on yellowed paper. The narrator-turned-reader's voice faded away... I continued to read silently, following her tale that seemed very very old. It felt that centuries passed while I slowly read from an over stuffed chair.

The process slowly reversed, the voice returned, the words became sketches and then drawings and then a sepia tone silent film with the sing-song voice of a gifted narrator. The colors slowly shifted to color until she was paddling across a mighty river, shining in vibrant colors.

It is strange to be able to remember my dreams so well... I sometimes confuse what really happened with what I only dreamt. It's like I am living a separate life where anything can happen. The memories get mingled.

I have been down to three or four hours of sleep each night for about a week. Well... most of the past year and a half. I don’t know how I’m still functioning at all.

This economy is bad news for schools. We are probably going to get our incomes sliced, some colleagues will lose their jobs, classroom sizes will get larger, we might have to shave days off the calendar... I’ve never seen public education in such a tight spot.

Jeremiah’s birthday is Tuesday. Brenda may come over Saturday and we will have a party. We are chipping in and buying him something a little extra special.

“This may be the last birthday he is here,” I said.

She reluctantly agreed.

Today the grumpiness and anxiety peaked.

At 3:30 Brenda and I, Jeremiah’s transition program teacher, the county mental health representative , and his brokerage manager (funds to help with respite care) met in Oregon City.

We talked out the various scenarios. The close group home I would like to see Jeremiah in, people who care, a place that is near, is unlikely. No one wants to take the risk of having him live with them unless they have a sprinkled facility. If none is available, they will put him in whatever space is available. If we do not manage one of those options, Jeremiah can apply to work at a Christian Summer Camp, but we would have to convince people we have yet to meet that the move would be in his best interest.

I argued against the items in his file which made him look like a fire risk. I promised there was no need for a sprinkler system. I suggested I could raise the money to pay for a sprinkler system.

To no avail.

Brenda and I walked outside.

I broke into tears.

“I love that boy. I want what is best for him. I don’t like this situation.”

She was less sympathetic.

What bothered me the most was the look of shock and confusion on her face. She really doesn't know who I am.

Got home, fed the boys.

Ran to the pharmacy and picked up the sleeping pills prescribed for me last night.

Now, I’m winding down... the sleeping pills are kicking in... my ears are ringing.... I’m on one of those logs that flow down the Willamette River when it is flood... I can try to watch where I am going... try to stay on the upper side of the twisting stump...

June is coming... Jeremiah is going to go somewhere... money will become tighter... I’m going to Thailand... the ringing in my ears is hypnotic...