Story 'Bout a Flying Cat

Sunday, April 21 2002

Last night, I slept the sleep of the nearly dead. Other than dreaming about a flying stuffed pink cat, I don't remember anything. Yeah, I guess I did have to remember that one. Even in the dream, I knew the cat couldn't fly and couldn't talk but I was working in some sort of store disturbing people with it.

Somehow, the cat was made out of some fabric that was useful as a glider or parachute or something. So, I'd climb up on something pretty high and jump off singing the cat's theme music. Yes, the flying cat had its own theme song. I was doing it because it made people think I was nuts but in some sort of harmless and loveable way.

After waking up, I realized that I'd have a lot of trouble jumping off anything high even with my own "catachute." Also, anyone doing this while at work would definitely be fired and probably locked up as well. A lot of people talk to stuffed animals, a few probably claim they can fly but testing out the theory probably crosses some sort of line.

On the other hand, I used to be well known for the occasional harmless bit of insanity. I remember once actually putting on shorts and a t-shirt during an exceptionally cold day because I knew it would bug people. I was going in to pick up Melissa at K-Mart and the temperature was well below freezing with an obscene wind chill. That impish spark in me came out and I realized that I had to do it. Shorts, no socks, a t-shirt and a parka.

Why did I do it? There's a certain joy in being perceived as not quite all there. "Aren't you cold?" Of course not. Wouldn't I be wearing more if I were cold? If they'd asked me this outside the store, it would have been different. Why do I like to wear shorts sometimes in the cold? Honestly, I wouldn't wear them if I were cold. Wearing them reminds me to get indoors where most sane people should be in weather like that. Why do I not carry an umbrella? I don't like them because I tend to lose them and, more importantly, I have enough sense to spend as little time out in the rain anyway!

I haven't gotten enough double takes from people recently. With the way I've been feeling, the energy hasn't been there. I like being the kinda person that makes people question themselves. "Why are you doing that?" Why aren't you? Haven't you ever wanted to do it? "But people would look at me funny!" You're looking at me funny and I haven't evaporated yet. Maybe you're looking at me funny because you're wondering if it just might be fun to be a little more like me.

I tell you that it is. It's a riot sometimes. Last night's dream reminded me of this a little. I tell you that, if I had a pink stuffed cat, I would be sure to take it flying. I won't promise the theme song because I only remember the first line. "It's a story 'bout a flying cat..."

I can't remember who it was that wrote "Calvin and Hobbes" but he had childhood right dead on. Calvin has an amazing life. He has the ability to understand complex philosophy that most people only pretend to learn in college. At the same time, he can suspend his disbelief enough to have a meaningful relationship with his stuffed tiger. It doesn't matter at all that others can't fit into his little world.

Ok, there's a point to all of this if you'll bear with me. One reason why I've always been so "out there" is to make up for personal limitations. I didn't want people to see me as handicapped so I learned to hide it. Most of the time, I hid it pretty well. That meant, of course, going to some pretty extreme lengths and absurd combobulations.

If you look at some of the things I do for laughs, you could see how they started. I "palm" things and practice small slight of hand tricks from time to time. This shouldn't surprise you. After all, sleight of hand is just a matter of distracting people. Swiping cookies hot off the baking tray is a lot easier than concealing a diaper under your coat.

Perhaps I've talked enough about regaining what I've had in the past. That's not enough. I got sick with ACM at age 25 and I don't want to go back there. I want to move forward. Even more, I want things I've never had.

At the restaurant, I had to use the bathroom. While I was in there, I decided it was time to change. Ok, I waited long enough so there was no one else in the bathroom, held the diaper in my palm (even though there's no hope of literally palming it) and headed out to the trash. Right on cue, a restaurant employee walked in just as I was placing it in the trash. It was a brightly lit room and the trash was built into the bathroom counter. I had to lift the damned thing just about up to eye level to get it in there.

There was no way this guy missed it. My personal sense of shame kicked in. Here I was getting caught using someone else's trash can for my problem. Someone was going to have to take out that trash eventually! I was caught.

Wait a minute...I was throwing away trash in the manner that society has chosen. The can was already lined in plastic and, without being graphic, I can tell you what I threw in there was not particularly messy at all. There was no reason for me to flee the bathroom as fast as I could without running and hoping not to meet anyone's eyes.

Where did I learn this shame? I can still remember palming a diaper the first night I had a roommate in college and having him look at me funny. He looked me in the eye and told me something flat out. I was going to have to trust him more than that if we were going to live together for the year. It ended up being easier than I thought plus I was careful never to rub it in his face.

Maybe I'll never recover from ACM. That's always been a possibility and, well, it doesn't frighten me. After all, it would just be more of the same. What does frighten me is this horrible shame. I've been promising change and I think the most profound change will have to involve confronting that. No, I know that's the single most profound change for me.

Even in this journal where I've promised such honesty, I section off part of my life. There's the majority of it that I talk about and there's the utterly disgusting part that I keep hidden. Well, some of that hidden part is utterly disgusting but it usually isn't. At worst, it can't be as bad as a tampon or a pad. You use them, you throw them away and there's no need to fret over them.

Alright, I don't care where this shame came from. I don't want to blame anyone or get accused of blaming. Let's just go back to that encounter with the restaurant employee. Let's assume he said something inappropriate to me. Would he then go to his manager and have me thrown out for being handicapped and disposing of trash? Would I have spontaneously combusted? Would his job have been in serious danger for insulting a paying customer AND risking a lawsuit (not that I would go that far)? Ok, I think we have our answer.

What if it had been a fellow customer? Ok, I don't have quite the advantage I'd have had over the employee but I do have one. I am used to people looking at me like I'm the weirdest person on the planet. I'd have answered any stupid questions asked with equally stupid answers and gone back to my meal.

Don't worry. I have other procedures for dealing with things in people's homes. As an Eagle Scout, I'm familiar with the advantages of "packing out" my trash. I'm not uncouth. I would have to say that I'd be better off handling things with less shame, though. Is there any reason not to ask a good friend or relative if I can use their outside trash can? No.

Ok, we went from joking around about pink flying stuffed cat dreams straight through to the central issue of my life. I feel like I'm on a roll here. I'm probably going to fumble a bit on the next topic because it borders on things that are not my business to repeat.

I've written here about psychological integration issues before. I've always had them but not in the pathological sense. It's just a fact that most people only know a side or two of me. Sometimes, there are aspects of me so different that I feel almost like more than one person. Once again, I don't feel that way literally but it helps to use that metaphor.

There are certain sides of me that get disgusted with other sides. For instance, I have an honorable side and a ruthless side. The honorable side of me values honesty, open communication and fairness. The ruthless side of me isn't evil by any means. It's usually used to help others but it's far more of a dirty side. I will manipulate people for their own good if the need is sufficiently great.

The problem was integrating those sides of me into a single person. The two sides I mentioned are relatively easy. I'm honorably ruthless most of the time. I try to be fair and not take advantage of people. On the other hand, some jobs just have to be done. If there's a life at stake or even serious injury, there is no question that I will lie and cheat to keep people safe. Even that's not dishonorable because I will tell you this up front. There is a ruthless side of me and I am good enough to manipulate you.

My honorable side is at peace with my ruthless side. There are other sides of me that have always been even less compatible. This is where I start tiptoeing on borders. Melissa seems to have the same sort of internal setup and her sides can be even less compatible with each other. Even worse, there are sides of ourselves that don't get along that well with sides of the other. (Don't worry. If you happen to be living with me at the time of this entry, I plan on explaining this.)

Since I've managed a decent amount of integration, it will probably fall to me to put forth my best side for the moment. We'll call it honorable manipulation. If she feels like spending time with me, it's probably a bad time for me to curl up in a ball with sharp quills pointed in all directions. If she's trying to get something done, it's probably a bad time for me to get clingy.

On the other hand, I'm going to expect a certain degree of increasing cooperation. If I'm in the middle of something that's making me porcupineish, she might want to consider telling me that she'd like to be around me when I'm done. In return, I'll let her know that I'm feeling clingy but am willing to postpone clinginess until she's done what she's doing.

In other words, I'm advocating a sort of considerate self assertiveness. I know that assertiveness is supposed to be considerate aggressiveness but the word still scares some people. "If I'm assertive, people will think I'm a bitch." Well, they might think that but it wouldn't make them right. I'm going to try to take the lead in saying this is what I want but I'm not demanding anything. I'm just trying to make your mind reading task a little easier.

Also, in reference to an inside joke, I am not complaining.