Edward Adrift

could not have been Cheyenne Wells, Colorado, as there are no woods there. Sheila Renfro has no context in my life here in Montana. It was a confusing dream, and when I finally decided to run for her—in the dream—she vanished.
    That’s when I woke up, scared and screaming “Sheila!” Not “Sheila Renfro,” which always bemused (I love the word “bemused”) Sheila Renfro, but just “Sheila.” What does it mean?
    That’s a rhetorical question, of course. For as long as I’ve had vivid dreams, I’ve been reading what I can about the science of dreaming, and I’m afraid the oneirologists are not much help when it comes to definitively diagnosing what we see when wesleep. Some believe that deeper meaning underlies our dreams and that interpreting them can lead us to greater understanding of our conscious selves. Others think that dreams are nothing more than images we’ve stashed away in consciousness that are then unfurled and combined in nonsensical and psychedelic ways by our deep brain as we sleep.
    In my reading, I’ve learned about authentic dreaming and illusory dreaming. I’ve experienced both. The dream I had about being on the barstool with my father in Cheyenne Wells, Colorado, was an authentic dream. It really happened. This one tonight, with Sheila in her nightgown and following me through the woods, that was illusory. The nightgown stemmed from something real; everything else did not.
    It’s all very baffling, the mixture of the known and the unknown, and it’s a burden on this fact-loving brain of mine, so I find that I must be practical about this.
    It will be very hard to get a decent night’s sleep if I’m going to be regularly dreaming about Sheila Renfro.
    It’s a practical impossibility not to think of Sheila Renfro when I’m awake. When I was speaking with Dr. Bryan Thomsen yesterday, my favorite part was when I got to talk about Sheila Renfro.
    I have to deal with things as they are. I’m here and she’s there, and so I have to build the best life I can. This shitburger of a year has taken so much from me, and it took Sheila Renfro, too. I have to accept that. I’m not the special man to recognize her specialness. She said that herself, and she should know.
    I hate that she said it, but she did, and I must get on with things.

OFFICIALLY THURSDAY, DECEMBER 22, 2011
    From the logbook of Edward Stanton:
    Time I woke up today: 3:06 a.m. from my terrible dream. After I calmed down, I set an alarm for 8:45 a.m. so I could attend to my data and make my appointment with Dr. Rex Helton.
    High temperature for Wednesday, December 21, 2011, Day 355: 35, a seven-degree drop from the high the day before. It’s still a very reasonable late-December temperature.
    Low temperature for Wednesday, December 21, 2011: 28, the same as the day before.
    Precipitation for Wednesday, December 21, 2011: a trace amount.
    Precipitation for 2011: 19.48 inches
    New entries:
    Exercise for Tuesday, December 21, 2011: I took a 45-minute walk around my neighborhood, my longest walk since the accident. I stuck to the sidewalks of Lewis, Clark, and Yellowstone avenues. I really enjoyed the route and the scenery. I think I will do it again today.
    Miles driven Wednesday, December 21, 2011: It will be a while before I take another long driving trip. Let’s retire this category.
    Total miles driven: Let’s retire this one, too.
    Gas usage Wednesday, December 21, 2011: Let’s retire this one, too.
    Addendum: I’m nervous about a lot of things today. I’m nervous about seeing Dr. Rex Helton. I’m nervous about going to see Jay L. Lamb about a job. I don’t like Jay L. Lamb very much, which may be unfair of me now that he is treating me well, but I can’t help it. I don’t like the idea of his finding a job for me, but I have to balance that against the certainty that I need something to occupy my time if this new program of mine is going to work. I will stifle my concerns and see what Jay L. Lamb has to say.
    My mother called this morning and told me to come by her condo at 5:00 p.m., that we would have dinner and talk. I’m ready for this discussion now. My destructive anger is gone. I still wish to make her acknowledge what she did to me, but I can do so in a constructive way, thanks to Dr. Bryan Thomsen.
    I can barely believe I wrote those last five words, but there they are, right above these words. Nobody else did that.
    Astoundingly—adverbs are not my favorite things, but “astoundingly” is