<h1>Dreaming & Remembering</h1>

I had one of THOSE dreams last night. Virtual reality. I saw 2 people at the end of my bed and one said to the other, "We can charge him with rape." It was so realistic, I sat straight up in bed to proclaim my innocence. Of course, nobody was there!

Sometimes I enjoy the reality of the dreams but at other times, they scare the colour out of me. I become a virtual albino.

Speaking of sex, the drug, mirapex (pramipexole), that I take to remove the hand tremor can have serious side effects that can devastate families. Among the those are:

• greatly increased sexual urges
• compulsive gambling
• compulsive shopping
• sleepiness or trouble sleeping
• constipation
• dry mouth
• increased urge to urinate or increased frequency of urination.

But, the drug works! For me anyway and luckily I have not had any of the side effects other than negative sleep patterns, drymouth and constipation. The latter was welcomed as I suffered from Montezuma's Revenge for some time.

A story out of time

I am flying out to Vancouver to attend my friend's funeral service. If you have come here to learn about PD, you can stop reading now. The following is just a memory of my friend. I can only chuckle at some of our adventures.

This one popped into my mind when I wrote "Montezuma's Revenge" above. It has all the qualities of a good drama with a few laughs thrown in.

When I last met with Brian, he told a story, that I had forgotten (but remembered as he told us), when we stupidly took our unplanned revenge (sort of) on a much bigger opponent

It was a cold winter night and Brian and I were outside shooting with Brian's BB gun. We stood in the shadows of his house and watched as the town tough guy walked by. This fellow is probably a good man now (we all grow up) but back then he was one scary cat. Without thinking of the unintended consequences, I said to Brian "Give me the gun," and he handed me the rifle. By this time, the tough guy had passed without noticing us. I took off my right mitt to free my fingers; raised the gun to my shoulder, aimed and pulled the trigger. I shot him in the back, thinking he wouldn't feel it through his heavy parka. Apparently I was wrong. He stopped, turned around, saw us and grunted a small, but eerily frightening, bellow. I quickly gave the gun back to Brian, who now stood there, mouth agape, with a "not me" look on his face while holding the smoking gun.

The tough guy started slogging through the snow toward us. We looked at each other and Brian yelled "Run". He flung the gun into a snow bank and we ran until the thug gave up.

Oddly, there was never anything said about the incident the next day in school. We kept waiting for the bomb to drop, but he had apparently forgotten or forgiven. No reason was ever given to us for his munificence and our Sleepy Hollow lives went on as usual.

You can see that this story had nothing to do with PD. It contains no metaphors or lessons. It was just a story.