Dinner theater and a transmission reissue event, oh, and a snuggle with a skunk before bed

I remembered the skunk part later, but it actually happened before I fell asleep. Kind of a preview channel dream, or a trailer for a dream that never made it into theaters. It was simply this: 

I was in the house and went out to look outside for some reason. It was daytime. I saw a park bench with a blanket or tarp covering a lump which looked to be about the size of a sleeping dog. Some straw protruded out from the tarp, indicating to me that an animal had made its nest here. I had a brief moment of trepidation, or common sense, which I promptly ignored as I lifted up one edge of the tarp to get a look at what was sleeping underneath. 

In an instant I was blasted in the face by a skunk, whose rear end must have been poised for just such an event. Another skunk leapt from the bench and latched himself onto my neck, crawling inside my hoodie and generally terrorizing me. I kept thinking, "Nice skunky. You aren't going to bite me, are you?" 

I believe he did bite me, but the bites were superficial. I woke up from that minor kerfluffle and settled back into my nightly sleep, in which I had the next dream.

I was working, or being a part of an event for Honda, kind of in a semi-retirement capacity. I was helping to set up for a dinner theater event, honoring the commemorative rollout of a reissue of the 2000 Civic's automatic transmission. A few of us were portaging it around like pallbearers, bringing it to a special place at a showcase type of dining room/living room in a furniture store, also owned by Honda. 

All items were to be sold and were in mint condition, having just had the plastic removed for the event. We were about to place the transmission, a beautifully restored remanufactured original model transmission, on the dinner table to be admired as a centerpiece. 

We were in the process of having to clear a space for it, so someone suggested setting it down on the floor next to the couch, which was a brand new high end piece of furniture, also being showcased for the event. As soon as the transmission was set on the pristine taupe carpet, it tipped over, spilling its cranberry sauce colored fluid all over the carpet and couch. 

Jose Heredia, aka Car Washee, was appalled. Heads were going to roll over this one. I had the brilliant idea of using a carton of baby  wipes that just happened to be sitting on the table, to attempt to mitigate the staining. 

"Quick, before the stain sets in!" I shouted and led the cleanup brigade. 

Sopping up and cleaning vast swaths of the red stain from the porous couch, I could see that the results were going to come out rather well, and we might just pull off the greatest coverup since Watergate. We all kept going, gladdened by the progress. 

"Good thing this was a floral print couch," I said, noting the easy way that any transmission fluid stains would have blended into the pinkish flowers. 

Soon all the stains lifted and we were good to go. But now we had new orders. The transmission was to be carried to a mountaintop theater/temple, high in the Tibetan Alps. On we marched, up a winding staircase to finally arrive at the theater. 

At this point I was given new instructions. I was to deliver a line in the play, so I separated from the transmission party and was to look for a person in the audience, who was to also deliver a line at a predesignated time in the play. I wasn't given much more than the seat number and name of the person, both of which I promptly forgot. I also never got the actual instructions for what my line was.

No matter, I scanned the aisles and quickly found the person in question. It was Surrinder Singh, another of YC Honda's car washers, affectionately known as "Sir." He told me not to worry, my line wasn't coming up until much later in the third act, so I had plenty of time to look around the grounds of the temple. I took him at his word and exited back through the front of the giant stone temple, admiring the view and the architecture on the way out. 

I stood under the massive arches, looking right and left down the two paths which had led up to the mountaintop edifice. One side was a dirt road, presumably used by ancient heroic oxcart drivers. They'd have had to have been insane or possessed superpowers to make it up the nearly vertical incline. I figured if I went down that way it would be a quick trip, since I'd be sliding on my butt at nearly terminal velocity. The other side, which was the way we came up was tamer, having been paved with Machu Pichu type stairs. 

I was about to choose that route, when I realized that I hadn't taken any pictures. I got out my phone and tried to take a selfie, but, wouldn't you know, I couldn't get the angle right. I had to settle for the stock postcard view, looking out of the teardrop shaped arches down into the Tibetan grasslands below. I was still mulling over my upcoming performance, so I was a bit preoccupied. I awoke soon thereafter.

Meanwhile, in the real world, I went to the eye doctor yesterday for a consult about my eyelid. I've been experiencing blurry vision in my right eye. After 2 months of suffering with a stye or chalazione on my eyelid, things seemed to be just getting worse. The doctor, a surgeon, recommended a steroid injection into the eyelid. 

"How's that sound?" He asked me, as if he were offering me a menu choice at a buffet. 

I told him that it sounded scary, but that I'd do it. He numbed the area and told me it would pinch a little, but that it should be helpful in reducing the swelling in the chalazion, and it might have a chance to heal on its own after a week. I clenched my buttcheeks, gritted my teeth and breathed in and out like a person on life support, while he inserted the syringe into one of my most sensitive areas. 

Yeah, I'm a big sissy. I wanted to scream and run, but I sat there for what seemed like an eternity. It was probably closer to twenty seconds, but you can't measure those seconds in the currency of everyday time. This was nightmare, worst-fear-in-the-world-being-experienced time, which is exponentially longer to the perception. 

After it was over, he told me I was a good patient for not causing a scene and clearing out the waiting room, as previous patients had done. Later, alone in my car, after driving down the road a bit, I let out a scream and pounded the steering wheel with both hands. This whole experience will live on in my memory as one of my greatest accomplishments: facing something of which I was extremely fearful and simply enduring it. 

Today, the swelling has reduced significantly. I will continue my regimen of warm compresses, hopeful that the growth will drain and continue to reduce. My vision is still subpar, but the doctor told me not to bother with a new prescription until after this had resolved. I may have to go back for a second injection, though he said he'd rather not see me again--because of the long drive I would have to make, not because I was that difficult of a patient. 

I wasn't difficult, was I? I don't think so. Just a cowardly 55-year-old with extreme anxiety. But I'm pretty happy with the results so far, and not wishing to see him again either. The poster he had in his office illustrating cataract surgery was terrifying in and of itself.