I did what I said I wouldn't do – work before bed – and I didn't do what I had said I would do – take an Ativan around 7 p.m. or so.
I did sleep this time but I woke up at that 4-a.m.-ish hour when it's too early to get up but you can't get back to sleep. The craziest dreams ran through my head all night.
It's easy to know where some of our dreams originate. In one part of my dream, my parents and Diane were in the front hallway and my father looked great, his face filled out and glowing with health. (My kids got a kick out of my mother meeting us in the hallway and saying, "Come inside," because we were already inside. Might be a New York thing.)
But anyway, then my father started to say nonsensical things. My mother, Diane and I looked at each other and knew we had the same concern: What if he was getting Alzheimer's?
I had read The Last Day of Her Life, the New York Times Magazine's cover story about a woman who decided to take her life after learning that she had Alzheimer's. If you read it you will think about it for a long time.
On the positive side, I got a call last night from the driver who is scheduled to pick me up today and take me to Dana-Farber. I asked him if he was the bozo who drove off without me last time (no, I didn't really say that, but I did ask if he was the same), and he said no. I told him what had happened and he said he would be sure to call me if there was a problem.
But first, off to probably the last indoor tennis clinic of the year!