Dreams only come true for a select few.
The rest of us shlubs must work, toil, write & rewrite, spell-check, create, imagine, record ideas on scraps of paper in the middle of the night and suffer writer’s block…not to mention, constipation…chasing the dream, the position, the title we have always imagined!
Mine?–was to be a humor columnist! My name & picture in print! My funny words for sale at every corner newspaper stand in the country!
Well, lightning strikes! My struggles and sweat over the past 25 or 30 years have come to fruition!
My Odd Sock mail call!
Because there in the mailbox was a letter from The New York Times!
When so many have scratched their heads and muttered “that was the stupidest thing I’ve ever read,” The New York Times boldly steps forward to recognize the genius that is, creative writing.
Inside this envelope, The Times (as those of us in the loop refer to the daily), will ask My Odd Sock to join their staff of journalists, to become the official publication humorist!
So bite it James Thurber! Suck eggs Mark Twain and Will Rogers…there is a new joke-spinner in town!
Be careful of paper cuts.
With the speed of pouring maple syrup, I rushed inside the house to open my letter of opportunity!
Oh, I see it now! I’ll take the cubicle next to George Will. I’ll play co-worker pranks on him. Like taping down the receiver of his phone–or stealing the wheels of his chair.
We’ll hang out in the employee breakroom. And be partners in the three-legged race at the company picnic!
Read the details!
With heart-pounding excitement, I pulled the letter from its paper home and began reading of my dream offer…..
“The Weekender?” “Fifty percent off?” “Five dollars and twenty cents a week?”
Reading on, I soon realized this was a dream offer all right. A dream offer not to write for The Times—but to read The Times “delivered right to my home”…”now at 50% off.”
Rat Bastards.
Thanks New York Times for squashing my hopes like a bug on the windshield of your car.
Who would want to work for that fishwrap anyway?
They wouldn’t know funny if it hit them upside their snooty, high-brow heads!
Garbage
So I guess it is back to writing this crap I call My Odd Sock.
Like anything else, all you can do is shrug it off and move along.
Besides, who knows, tomorrow’s mail may just bring the next opportrunity of a lifetime!
The following is an encore performance of bad grammar and mispelled words–otherwise known as “My Odd Sock.” Enjoy!!
This morning I awoke remembering two dreams I had during my restful night of slumber (and drooling).
Did I mention I drool in my sleep? I make a St. Bernard seem like it has cotton-mouth. But that’s another story.
So, I was reliving my dreams of walking and moving about and running free of any constraints of multiple sclerosis.
I frolicked…without spasticity…at normal human speed, not my typical “use me as a sundial” snail’s pace.
As I told my wife of my dreams I said, “Funny how in my dreams I don’t have MS!” She simply replied, “Because that would be a nightmare.”
(Pause) Right. I agreed. A nightmare. I think.
Then, my wheels began turning.
(I remind you, when I have a thought it sounds like a peanut (my brain) bouncing around inside a tin can (my big empty head).
I pondered. If my dreams of being MS free are dreams.
And my dreams WITH multiple sclerosis are nightmares. Then, does that make my waking hours, dealing with all the amenities MS has to offer, a nightmare too?
Am I living a dream….Or am I living a nightmare?
Am I making any sense?
Me & my shrink.
This is gonna require a couch session with my shrink. Maybe Dr. Bizzledorf can draw some conclusions from my quandary!
Seriously though, this falls in the category of how you look at life’s situations. Optimist vs. Pessimist. Glass half-full vs. Glass half-empty. Because I don’t think of my life as a nightmare, nor do I see it as a dream either.
Certainly, I don’t want my kids or your kids or their kids to have to deal with what those of us with MS must face each day. So you just make the most of what you got.
The Funny Meter
Yeah, I figured the Funny Meter (pegging zero) would make an appearance. It’s like a bad rash.
C’mon, gimme a break Funny Meter, I’m being phylo-dough-sophical here. Something like that!
I gotta believe someone with multiple sclerosis on their plate must look at each day straight-on. Not worrying about yesterday. Not fretting about tomorrow.
MS or not, we’re all living the dream right? May yours be sweet.