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It was dark. Still night, then, or maybe early morning. I stare at the dim ceiling wondering why I woke up. Then I noticed it: a heavy weight on my chest. It obviously wasn’t the dog laying on my chest, so what could it be?

Hesitantly, I move my right arm under the covers and towards my chest. There’s definitely something sitting there. I poke it. It doesn’t move. I flick it with my finger. Still no reaction but it feels rubbery. I can’t think of what it could possibly be. I steel myself and grab the dead, rubbery object gingerly between forefinger and thumb and slowly draw it up from underneath the bed covers.

It’s my hand. My own hand. My own left hand which, I guess, I had been sleeping on until I pinched the nerve enough to kill all feeling in it. At that moment it decided to wake up. The pins and needles sensation rushes up from my elbow in that weird pain that comes with feeling coming back to a sleeping limb.

That’s a true story. It happened years ago, sometime back when I was in high school, but I remember it vividly because it was such a bizarre thing.

Last night while I was watching Deep Space Nine and Junior was up on the desk. He’s been playful lately so I ran my finger around the desk in front of him. I know cats and I’m willing to put up with the scratches and pain in the interest of amusing them.

He surprised me, though, by just batting my finger without using claws. I moved my finger around and, again, he batted my finger with, what I call, his mitten. We did this a few times until I moved my finger and he batted it with his mitten and then bit my finger.

It didn’t hurt. It didn’t even hurt enough for me to pull my finger away so he just sat there with my finger in his mouth. I could see his right eye looking down at my finger. Then that eye focused straight ahead. Then he looked at me. Being the cat he is, he gracefully moved from gnawing on my finger to cleaning his foreleg, as if that whole nasty business of the teeth hadn’t happened.

Just a quick note. If they ever decide to put another “Star Trek” show on the air I think it should be a half-hour sitcom based on the Ferengi.  In my mind, the situation between Quark and Rom’s mother, who they affectionately call “Moogie”, should be re-used. The mother is nontraditional and actively goes against the societies  mores while the two bumbling sons manage to get themselves into financial trouble. At the end of each episode when the mother manages to fix all the mistakes they can all say, “That’s my Moogie!” Which would also be the title of the show.

You’ve got energy to spare — and it’s a good thing, too, because you’re going to need it. Oh, and when you cross paths with someone who’s not feeling quite so motivated, chat ’em up. You can get them going, if anyone can.

These people are from another planet. I wasn’t feel well today and slept for a large portion of it. I had to force myself to go to the store to get food for the birds. And I don’t have anyone’s path to cross because I ‘m a lone wolf. Dottie.

Nobody likes a sour puss, and I’m the biggest sour puss around for miles. Perhaps I should be more fun. Perhaps I should just ‘let go’ and free myself.  If only I had a mentor in fun, like in the movies.

I’ve believed for a while now that there is something inherently wrong with me. That there’s something about me that holds me back from actually being me. That sounds pretty weird, but I think I’m getting to the point where I can recognize it.

And it’s all about control.

And that’s how it is at the end of this particular Sunday, the end of my birthday week. The first week of November, which is the penultimate month of 2011.

Pretty soon it’ll be time for us to lie to ourselves about what we feel like changing for next year.