So what exactly does someone think while they're having a stroke? What is the essence of self, and what is the essence of the mind? Would you realize that part of you was slipping away, or would you simply become what you were going to become and never realize who you were?
I'm sure that's what everyone thinks as they're laying in bed when the twinge of a headache strikes. I'm positive. In any event, I like to plan for any contingency, even though it's pretty much useless to plan what you're going to do in the event that you're unable to do anything.
And then I fell asleep again and dreamed about basketball players and cookies and whether the Kings were going to trade anyone else, as well as whether the team the guy sitting next to me -- he somewhat resembled Dirk Nowitski -- was settled. There were cookies on the table next to the wall as we walked out, mounds and mounds of seven different kinds of cookies. I took an oatmeal cookie, as I recall, and urged my daughter to grab whatever she wanted to.
All of which was much better than having a stroke, but somewhat akin to being unable to come up with anything resembling a good plot line. Cookies? Basketball players? It's possible that these last five years of watching my daughter's basketball games, driving to all the tournements, rubbing elbows with my fellow basketball parents has left its mark. Basketball is life. Life is basketball. Drive to the lane; box out; stay on your man, even if your "man" is actually a girl.
Some of these skills translate to real life, as it turns out. Protecting that spot on line at the grocery store? Box out. Looking for a job? Drive that lane. Maybe not. It just goes to show that not everything is an appropriate metaphor, that you should wax before rinsing, and that the doctor does not always know what's best.
Next?
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