East of Westward Avenue the tether snaps, the air line pops loose and there is no sense of motion as I leave my home town. Holding my breath, I live in other places.

When I go to bed I hear a soft ringing. Not tinnitus, or something you'd complain about, just a tiny reminder that I disregarded warnings about loud music.

Twelve weeks out from therapy, at least until the meeting that will disqualify me.

Let's see:

If I'm not manic (inappropriate), then I'm depressed (unfortunate). I can be medicated (inarticulate), or myself (unrealistic). Got it, ready for another day of insignificance and ineffectuality!

Before they knew for sure what I was, before they'd ever tell me, before they hung their heads for me, before they wished I never was.

The dream began with me watching a Pacific Islander ceremony. An old man went about building a small smoldering fire. He sprinkled onion shaped roots into it, and covered them with palm fronds.

NBA Point Guards aren't usually known as thugs. Their small size and position as team coordinator gives them every reason to not be. The Point Guard in my dream was an exception.