The Stinger

I just had a horrible nightmare. It is now 4:51 in the AM, and Nat X is nowhere to be found.

Mind you, this is a dream so things are messed up and complicated. I'll try to distill the nightmare part for everyone. In my dream, I thought I was going to be playing basketball, for some reason with Michael Covarrubias, and others to make a team. But before I got to the facility, I decided I didn't want to play. This feeling got even stronger when I got to the facility and found out that it was a Special Olympics event. This competition had an odd arrangement where the buddies and the participants didn't play a game of basketball but moreso did a skills competition. I was late, and when I was walking into the main gym from the facility I was asked by some administrator lady if I was normal (there might have been signs in the area saying it was an able bodied entrance/registration or something). I said yes, and we both had a chuckle because we knew we were the exceptions at the event--here is where the psychological torment comes--we were minority and inferior exceptions.

Once I got into the gym, I was immediately thrust into a skills comp where our regional team was shooting the ball from the side, within the basketball key. I made my first shot, but then there was this girl behind me (I don't know if she was a Special participant or not) who affected my shot because when I went above my head with the shot she would hit it with her hands, i guess because she was just having so much fun, flailing and whatnot. By the way, Frank Martinez was the helper at our basket and he kept on giving me advice while I was shooting and missing. That's kinda the end.

Now for a breakdown of the torment, I was so frustrated because I couldn't complete what should be such a normal function, and I was doing worse than a bunch of handicapped people. The thing is I probably did just as well at the basketball thing as I normally would have, but when I was compared to the Special Olympic participants, I paled. I compare it to a dishwashing competition. Everyone can wash dishes, right? Now step into a situation where you are competing with a bunch of mentally retarded people who have been practicing at dishwashing, and are therefore really good at it--at least better than anyone who hasn't been practicing. So a normal person, me, who hasn't been practicing is blown out of the water in this competition, making them inferiour (I'm going british) by losing. It sounds a little silly right now but this was a really traumatic feeling for me. I think what made it so humiliating was not that I was doing worse than the handicapable, but their presence and my perception of their abilities, castrated my own self-worth when I attempted any task, menial as it was.

It is now 5:20 in the AM, and I thank you for listening to my nightmare. Sweet Dreams