(4/18/06) micro-intervention, possession, and hyperventilation

(Entered in paper journal at 6:31 PM at NYPL Mid-Manhattan Library.)

Dream 1

I stood at the open end of a long, black, narrow room that opened into a wider room that was dim but regular, like a living room. At the far end of the narrow room my coworker CB stood before a black, solid altar or pedestal-like structure. On the structure was a small stand which held either a book or a brain or the floating image of a brain.

The room was for a test -- a fun test but a test just the same. The person at the table or stand had to answer a question, and the answer came from a part of the brain that, for you to pass, gave off a specific signal.

CB was trying to get the answer. But time ran out. In front of a floating image of a brain ran  the words "MICRO INTERVENTION" (?). I feel like she knew the answer but that she didn't say it because she didn't want to look smart in front of me.

I stood by the pedestal now. But CB and my mom (my mom had been beside me as I'd watched CB) were both gone. My mind was a blank. I felt alone. I felt like part of the reason I had been left alone was that I had no social skills.

I went to look for BC and my mom. They were in the kitchen, the only place where a light was on in the house. In front of the kitchen was a curtain like a mesh of thin slats of wood, the slats about one-eighth of an inch wide and one-eight of an inch apart.

I couldn't see through the slats, or, rather, I could only see vague shapes moving. I thought to myself, I act autistic. But I'm not autistic. But there must be some reason I act this way. Some people think it's endearing. But I just think it's boring.

I was now looking through slats that were almost the same. I could hear my mother and CB talking about something very important. But looking through the curtain I felt something very frightening. It was like an animal possessing me. I began hyperventilating. I fell back, crouching, against the wall, almost screaming, but still hyperventilating.

My mom came out of the kitchen with genuine interest but a little nonchalance, to attend to me. She spoke cheerfully to CB: "Yeah, I always have to remember that he has these attacks and he needs to be looked after or else he freaks out."