Profligation

Dreams.  What could they mean?  Merely products of an overactive mind?  Or do they provide a glimpse into an uncertain future?  It's difficult to say for sure, but for decades, there has loads of science investigating the unconscious state of dreaming.  The causes, the need and/or the necessity of dreaming.  That's not what this is about.

My dreams tend to air on the side of strange.  I know this much about my unconscious state.  My dreams tend to be something as stupid as white water rafting with the likes of WWE superstars, The Undertaker,  Hunter Hearst Helmsley (Triple H) and Stephanie McMahon or I've dreamt murder/mystery stories that could be blockbuster films if ever realized on the silver screen.  Most of the really good stuff, quickly disappears once I awaken and I can't remember the finite details.  (Plus, I can barely write this blog that no one reads, let alone pen the next Hollywood hit.)

This morning, I awoke about a half dozen times, from the time of 5am all the way up to the present (8:30am).  Normally when I wake up this often, my head is plagued with a number of images and stories, but not on this day.  I woke up every time, wondering..;  Is trounce a multiple of bounce?

Now before the one reader who mistakenly wandered onto this site and decided "What the hell?" and read it anyway, saw this statement and has declared me a f**king moron, keep in mind, I've already Googled the meaning of both and know that bounce doesn't restrict an item to hitting the ground twice and trounce doesn't refer to three rebounds or more.  If I continued down the path of trying to declare this to be the case would be shear idiocy. This is simply an example of how my brain works.

       

In the back of my mind, I knew there was a difference.  That the explanation wasn't as simple as bi meaning two and tri meaning three.  The English language can be a little f**ked up, but it makes more sense than this.  Again, my brain works differently than other people's.  Always has, even before I had my accident.

I had a dream once, where I was at a Agriculture show with two people of whom I was familiar with (in the dream, but in real life, I hadn't met them yet).  The reason this dream was so memorable was the three of us were speaking to a farmer about emu's.  Up to this point, I had never heard of an Emu, and when I awoke, I had to investigate whether or not this was a real thing.  It is.  Many months later, I was attending a class at SIAST and our class was sent to the local Agribition, where I hung out with classmates, Christine and Derek.  Two people who I hadn't known when I had the initial dream, but whom I was familiar with that day and... Yes!  We stopped and spoke with a farmer who raised... [dramatic pause] ... Emus.  F**king weird, right?

I could fill volumes about the strange dreams I've had and have been able to remember.  Who the hell knows about all the shit I've forgotten?  I'm willing to bet that I probably did have a few million dollar ideas in the mix.  However, I believe this blog has strayed far enough off the initial subject that I had hoped to address in this blog, this morning.  I'm like Hulk Hogan, by which I mean, I can't seem to stay on one subject and am distracted by all the shiny shit that accompanies said subject.  (If you're one of the sorry souls who read Hulk Hogan's book from way back, you'll understand that reference.  It was a painful read, to say the least.)

Bounce: (verb) (of an object, especially a ball) Move quickly up, back, or away from a surface after hitting it; rebound (once or repeatedly).

(noun) Rebound of a ball or other object.

Trounce: (verb) To defeat heavily in a contest; To rebuke or punish severely.

Emu: The emu is the second-largest living bird by height, after its ratite relative, the ostrich. It is endemic to Australia where it is the largest native bird and the only extant member of the genus Dromaius.

Profligate: recklessly extravagant or wasteful in the use of resources. (Or this edition of Brain Matter.)

I don't really have an out for this blog, so I will leave you with this.  If you've made it this far into this blog and liked it?  You're my audience and you may enjoy previous entries.  They're not all golden, but some of them are pretty good.  If you begrudgingly made it this far and haven't liked a single word, except maybe Emu (because it is a fun word to say), you have my apologies.  However, you may want to check out past entries.  They're not all golden, but some of them actually are pretty good.

In closing, everyone have a Merry Christmas! 🎅

Broken

 

I am a broken man.  Broken in so many ways, physically and otherwise.  I've endured torn muscles and broken bones, the worst of which, came in 2014, when I broke three vertebrae in my back.  My T3, T4 and T5 all receiving compression fractures after a platform that I was standing on, dropped.  Up to that point, that was the worst pain I'd ever endured.  Mere walking, after that point, was painful and laboured.  I was forced to take soft slow and methodical steps as any harsh impact on the ground or floor would result in a xylophone effect, of sharp dagger-like pain, shooting up my spine to the base of my skull and down my legs.  It's not something I'd wish on anyone.  Eventually, through physiotherapy and exercise, I was able to walk... normal-ish and without most of the pain.  It's still something that I deal with on a day-by-day basis.  I was told that the injured vertebrae would never heal completely and any plans that I might have had for adventure, would have to be avoided for the rest of my life.  So no skydiving or bungee jumping for me and to be truthful, I'm quite fine with that.

Up to that point, that was the most severe pain and, might I say, injury, as years later I would take a nasty spill in a parking lot, which knocked my fat ass out, in the process.

On a cool March evening in 2018, I'd just returned back at the warehouse where I was a courier.  The man-door by the overhead was busted and we would have to walk to the next bay to enter via that door.  In the cool darkness, I was unable to see the ground clearly, which resulted in my taking a nasty fall, thus knocking myself out in the process.  I was unconscious for nearly twenty minutes.  I know because I was happy about returning early that night.  I had arrived at the warehouse a little past 7:30pm, my usual time was mostly closer to 10pm.  When I came to, I was shivering and cold.  I reached for my phone that was in my hand, but now laying on the ice.  I was shocked to see that the clock was reading nearly 8pm.  I don't remember a lot after that.  I recall texting my boss to give him shit about being so cheap and not buying any sidewalk salt, then nothing.  I don't remember going home, nor do I recall coming back to work the next day or most of my 1000-plus kilometer delivery route the next day.  In fact, I don't remember anything up until I found myself sitting in a lab waiting to give a blood test for an unrelated thing.  That's when fear overwhelmed me and I sought out medical attention.

Over the course of my life, I've probably had a grand total of (at least) 10-12 concussions, but by definition alone, I suspect that I many have had quite a few more.  The worst prior to this event, occurred following a snowmobile accident, where I slammed my head so hard that the helmet I was wearing, split in two pieces.  I never received any medical attention at that time, my family telling me to go lay down (before anyone says anything, I know now that this was a really bad idea).  The result of that injury was just a slurry of massive headaches and migraines.  The brain injury in 2018, was much much (MUCH) worse and the lasting effects are quite intrusive and bothersome.

At the time of the slip and fall, I was experiencing a loss of vision, loss of balance, both short-term and long-term memory loss, slurred speech, an inability to remember or form complex words, and a lack of attention.  Years earlier, I'd been diagnosed with ADD.  Back in high school it was called something else, daydreaming or as my dad called it back then, "stupid".  I've always had a problem with focusing on things, which includes a learning disability.  I can learn quickly how to do things when I see it done physically or visually, but I'm unable to read anything, comprehend it and put it to use.  This is probably why I was almost in tears when I met wrestling legend, Mick Foley.  His books were and remain, the only books I've been able to read and comprehend as I was reading them.  For those of you who take this ability for granted, will never know that magic of this feeling.

Keeping my attention has always been a challenge, but since that fateful day, my attention span has been greatly challenged.  Just yesterday, I was picking up some butter for my mother and had to call her three times to ask the same question.  That's the long-term result that frustrates me most about this injury.

Through physiotherapy, I was able to restore most of my mobility in that, I no longer have balance issues, although I remain somewhat clumsy to a degree.  The headaches aren't quite as extreme as they were in the weeks following the fall.  At that time, I was forced to wear sunglasses almost constantly, when I was outside of my house.  The glaring sun and indoor lights would create a vise-like grip on my frontal lobe that would almost bring me to tears.

My speech would return, also, although I've noticed a severe stutter that rears it's ugly head from time-to-time, which is added frustration, which in-turn causes more stuttering.  Then when I'm not stuttering, but attempting to engage in conversation, I find myself struggling to remember or form certain words.  Not even complex words or as my friend, Danny calls them, "$10 words", but simple vocabulary is almost non-existent. 

I was tested a number of years ago, kind of a aptitude test of sorts.  They tested my mathematical, mechanical, literary and vocalization skills.  I failed to do well on the reading, as per my ADD, but scored well on the (basic) math and mechanical tests, but the vocalization, which I was told referred to my conversational skills.  That my verbiage skills were in the top twenty-one percentile for my age group.  When pressed, they further explained it as me being "smarter" than seventy-nine percent of those in my age grouping.  If I were to take that test today, I doubt that I'd perform quite as well.

Physiotherapy managed to restore most of my abilities prior to my concussion and for that I'm eternally grateful, but something that hasn't been restored, is my memory.  Both short-term and long-term is going to be effected for the remainder of my life, I'm told.  I find this aspect of my recovery to be the most worrisome.  Everyday is a struggle to remember simple chores and responsibilities.  Remembering how to travel to destinations where I've been a thousand times before, is a struggle some days.  I feel shame and stupid when I fight to remember.  Then other times, when I remember something, I feel like I've won the lottery.  Even the most insignificant memory, to me, is an incredible feeling.

I was pushing snow off my driveway the other day, when I was reminded of the time, as a little kid, my mom bought me and my sister snow shovels.

I grew up on a farm.  We didn't have anything like a snow blower or a blade on the front of a truck or tractor.  Instead, my dad used a scoop shovel, that he'd normally used for shoveling grain in the storage bins* that lined the hill on our property.  My dad would clear the snow out of the yard and the lane that connected the yard to the highway.  For some reason, that day, my sister and I, convinced my mom to buy us a snow shovel each, to go help our dad.  I remember the look on my dads face as we proudly marched out to the yard to help shovel snow, and the look of disappointment when we gave up on that endeavour, because it wasn't as fun as he'd made it look.  That memory flooded my brain the other morning, bringing a smile to my frozen face. (*It took me quite a few minutes to remember the word "bins", in the construct of that sentence.)

My biggest frustration, more so than the ability to access memories, is convincing others, some friends, but mostly family members that I can't remember what they're talking about.  Just the other night, my mother was telling me something that (apparently) I was a part of, but when I revealed that I had no recollection of the incident, I was met with conflict and accusations of untruthfulness.  I was accused of lying because I couldn't remember any facts about a family dinner we'd all attended many years prior.  I hate that.  I f**king hate that.

When I broke my back, I was unable to do this or that, as such injuries often restrict those with the injury.  My sister refused to believe that my injury was as severe as it was, stating that "if your back was broken, you'd be paralyzed".  She's obviously misinformed.  My sister is also one of those who accuse me of deceit whenever I'm unable to recall certain facts or elements of a story.

I've been injury free, brain-wise, in the years since that fateful night when I knocked myself unconscious in a parking lot.  I have a little PTSD from it, nervously venturing outside in the winter, for fear of falling again and possibly further injuring my brain.  I've taken a few nasty falls during this time frame, but my head has not been effected.  My struggles to remember continue and I celebrate them when memories return.  I've been known to say the words, "Praise The Positive" which was a silly thing some friends used to say when making drink toasts, but rings truthful these days.  As bad as things get in my life, I choose to praise the positives whenever they appear.  It's like discovering life all over again.