I thought the Clonazepam was supposed to stop this kinda stuff.
One of the features of Parkinson’s that I don’t particularly mind is the vivid, almost lifelike dreams I have nearly every night. They are almost never nightmares, and they generally have a coherent story line. But vivid dreams when one is also suffering from REM Sleep Disorder — another affliction associated with Parkinson’s disease — not a good mix.
Last night, I was dreaming that Gail and I lived in a luxury condo building that also housed an office at which I was employed. During a meeting, a skinny, sour looking person — sort of reminiscent of Ralph Bellamy — came into the room and waved a piece of paper in my face. It was a credit card bill for $89,000. I told him he was nuts because I don’t have a credit card and I pay my bills with a debit card. He said too bad, that he wanted the money that afternoon or we would be locked out of the condo.
So, I’m laying on a park bench, on my left side, in the plaza of the condo and I feel someone shove me from behind. I turn and look and it’s the skinny Ralph Bellamy again. He kicked me in the small of the back, and was waving the bill in my face. I lay on my back for a couple seconds and then gave him a backhanded right fist to the face.
End of Dream.
I woke up, realizing I had just given a backhanded right-fisted punch to the wall next to my bed. If Gail and I were still sleeping in the same bed, it would have been a backhanded right-fisted punch to the woman I have been living with for 26 years, come March. No damage to the wall. Minor soreness and swelling in my right hand.
Went back to sleep and the dream changed. This time, I was manager of a health club and a kid I knew (early 20s, don’t know him in real life but in the dream I knew him) was trying to hide from Tony Soprano‘s crew. The kid was in the weight room when Paulie Walnuts and Bobby Bacala dropped by for a workout. They opened the door to the weight room and we can see the kid from behind. He slowly turns around. A look of recognition comes over Paulie’s face…
And then Raven, my 9-year old border collie began to whine, so it was time to get up before the bullets could start flying.
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