Blog, I Had a Dream

This is my dream from last night:

The fingers of my left hand are drumming the air. I notice and think, "Oh, my God, my hand is moving." I run to this sick sad looking little boy wearing a blue t-shirt. I tell him, "Look," while I move my left hand around. I tell him, "You're going to be okay, you need to give your body time." I repeat this to him a couple of times more. And then I run (no weak left leg either) looking for my family. While I'm looking I keep talking to my brain, telling it, "You rock, you found the way to you arm, you found the way to your arrm." I find my daughter but she doesn't seem to grasp the miracle it is that my "stroked" hand is fine again. So I keep running. I find my mother, I show her my hand. She comes toward me and gives me a hug. The bittersweetness of this is that right behind her is my daddy and in that same position, they give me a crushing hug. It's here that I start sobbing when I'm telling Husband about my dream, because my daddy has been dead for 28 years.

So we're convinced that I need to do exactly what I told the sad little boy to do, give my body time to find the way to its left extremities once again.

May God bless this dream, may the signs be His to comfort me in my impatience.

Amen,

Margarita

Payday

Up for air.

Breathe, Margarita.

Yo Blog!

I'm down, down down. I hate the recession and how it has finally caught up with me. It makes me feel so poor and desperate. And my salary shouldn't allow for me to have thoughts of poverty. And the fact that I'm still alive, in spite of the 08 stroke, shouldn't allow for thoughts of despair. But there you are that it that I do have them.

I'm to the point thatt I'm thinking I should work on presenting myself as a business case and submitting it to a philanthropist, and see if this old broad is worthy of a his/her help. I offer no dividends just a grateful heart.

The sad thing is that I had to pull out my little girl fprom her dance classes on Saturday. And she loves dance sooo much. But, that's $165 a month we won't have to pay anymore, and that is no small amount for us in this dreary climate.

At this point I'm even holding back from buying my reading group book for October. I practically can have breakast and lunch at work one day with $15. Can you imagine, me, the book lover, cannot afford a book! How the hell did that happen?

I know that in the white world it ain't pretty to talk about money, whether you have it or not, but that ain't me. If called on it, I could make a long list of my money pressures. I'm pretty sure half a mill will suffice, but in my case I would probably need 30 years to pay that reasonable amount of money. And that would be my whole worth by the time i'm seventy.

Pitiful isn't it?

Bill, Melinda where are you?

Sadly for now,



Margarita