My knees are still swollen. I can’t extend them. So, I limp around. Last night, they were so bothersome that I lay in bed to exhausted to even think and too uncomfortable to fall asleep. When the dreams finally set in, they were extremely claustrophobic.

The first dream had me on a phone call with an technical guy from my last job. He had to do a project. I told him that he needed to check for two types of packets. In my dream, I had written the code before and saw the manual page in front of me. He insisted on ignoring my advice. I panicked, because I was ignored even I was right and had verified myself on a couple levels. So, I made my point forcefully. From the silence of my boss and other people on the phone call, I assumed that everyone thought I was the bad guy, not the ignorant other guy. So, I started back paddling: “I said something that crossed your boundaries. What is it?” When I woke up after the dream, I felt horrible. I could not calm down. I felt like my body was dehydrated, so that I could not think straight anymore.

The next dream started kind of pleasant. I was descending a desert cliff to meet a highway at the bottom. It would be the beginning of an exciting multi-day trip around the country. Before hitchhiking to the first city, I needed to pee. There were some tall shrubs near the edge of the highway. For whatever weird reason, I had a portable chemical toilet in my backpack. I took it out. I put it down on the side of the road. I did not need the portable toilet, because I only needed to pee. However, cars started stopping right at the very spot that I was at. Out of so many miles of lonely desert, drivers started to pick this spot to relieve themselves. So, I could not leave the portable toilet by itself. I knew that the practical thing to do was to put the portable toilet back into my backpack and pee with the backpack on my back. Yet, in the dream, I was unable to make my dream persona do that. Instead, I kept walking up and down the side of the road, putting the toilet down and picking it up again. I got very frustrated.

When I almost had the peeing and portable toilet situation worked out, a young man peed near me. A motorbike gang stopped. They surrounded him and started beating him up. I felt the danger. I slowly backed away and reached for my phone to call 911 to summon help for the young man. There was a crack in the tall desert cliff. The crack had a door. The door was the beginning of a v-shaped house built into the rock. Each higher floor was wider. The building was abandoned. So, I could pick up anything that I found. I found fresh cookies. The building did no longer seem so abandoned, yet my dream kept telling me that it was abandoned and for the taking. I took the cookies. I remembered, the joy that I had as a teenager, when my ma made cookies. I realized that all those little joys of my ma doing little things were over, because I live on my own now. I walked out the top of the building into a pasture with trees. Two people passed me in the opposite direction. I thought that the whole worry and anxiety of hitch hiking was not worth it. I would keep walking to the nearest city, which happened to be Reno to get a car rental. Sure, it was more expensive, yet the peace of mind was worth it. I woke up during the first steps toward the city.

I kept thinking about the statements of my dad. One of his rants was about never trying to be great, and always striving to be less than good. His point was that once you reach the top, there is no more way up, only down. He says that if you are mediocre, chances are good that you will improve. I think that is a seriously retarded idea. I like to be proud of what I am involved in. There is this great feeling of satisfaction, when the food comes out with a special taste, when the writing has intrigue. I know that perfectionism can set up one up for struggle, yet I know the joy of doing something well. That’s what gets me to do things. Why would I get up to do something that is done half way and everyone frowns upon?

There may be wisdom in aiming low and realistic to avoid anxiety and procrastination. Yet, my dad really did not aim in that direction. He really wanted to be mediocre. Further, the idea that once you are excellent that there is no more way to go up is not true. Maybe, in a class, you can’t get a better grade than an A. Yet, in real life, you can always improve. You can lead the way into new techniques and solutions. Even in class, you can get better than an A by picking a better school or winning a prize. My goal is far from being the best. I know that I cannot achieve that and would be riddled with fear to even start. Yet, I do want to go and find my own direction in any craft and reach a point of elegance in my endeavors.

The other point that my dad made was that every psychologist, lawyer, and himself seizes up a client for how much money they can extract. Once the sum is figured out, they string along the client to extract that money. There are people, who genuinely care about their craft and work. I like to think that I can recognize the people who are simply after the money, because they lack sincerity and true care for their craft.

However, it does point to the world that my dad is leaving in. In business, he always seems to believe that any business needs a trick to exploit customers. In all the business texts that I read, the idea is to get a good product, fair price etc, because in the long term, you loose reputation with gimmicks.

It is funny. My dad tends to pick rather bad hotels. They are expensive, yet the rooms aren’t really pretty. When we went to Hawaii, I paid almost half for the same room, because I booked it through a better source. When his hotel did not have a room left for me to book, I’d stay at other hotels that were pretty and cost a third or a quarter. It is like my dad goes for the prestige without being able to recognize what he gets other than by the money that he pays.

I think that thinking of my dad comes from the beginning of his time in Israel. When he first came to Israel, he was intrigued by the attitude of many Israelis. Germans seemed timid and unable to get the girl. However, Israeli culture is notorious for being pushy. I remember, when we tried to wash our feet at a public spigot after a walk at the beach. I tried to be polite to get access. However, the local kids kept cutting in front of me. My dad told me that I had to push as well. His wife told me a story of a long line at a car wash. A woman arrived and cut the front of the long line. Supposedly, people would even respect her for being so bold. His wife also told me a story about a group of guys being too timid to talk to a girl. An Israeli would sneak up behind the girl and undo her bikini. The girl would love it, because the guy was bold.

Back in Israel, I also liked that approach of getting things done and being ‘smarter/bolder’ than the other guy. However, over the years, I started to develop dismay about people that associate with such a culture. They would often claim spiritual or all kinds of things. Yet, if you talked to them more than five minutes, it was evident that they simply grabbed for large words without meaning it. Plus, after dealing with them a few times, it is also evident that they always scam you: The products suck and the prize is doubled up. There are other Israelis. I have had good times with them. However, that whole pushy thing, it ain’t working. Well, maybe my dad hasn’t wisened up, but I have.

Oh fuck, I hate myself a bit. My mind is so foggy and unclear. I feel like the day is a waste. I’d want to do something productive. Yet, my knees are killing me. I don’t feel the strength and motivation to do something. I feel exhausted. I try to figure things out in my head. Yet, it does not get figured out.

Oh yeah, and the other night, my ma told me the latest conspiracy theory of my step dad. According to them, the bosses pay themselves large bonuses until the companies go bankrupt. Plus, they take away all the bonuses from my step dad. Well, there are Wall Street largesse that came into question: The scheme of rewarding too much risk. However, my ma insisted that she was talking about the managers at my step dad’s car company. Well, I believe that the reasons for car manufacturers to struggle are a bit more complex than a conspiracy among all managers to drain the company by their large paychecks. That financial markets failed to offer loans to buy cars is a factor. That the recession is pummeling new car buying is a factor. That Asian competitors are fierce is a factor. That culture in certain car manufacturers is bad is a factor.

I think my step dad may be compensating. As a thirty year old, he received a good salary at a prestigious car manufacture. Since then he was fired twice for alcoholism at the job. The latest downsizing of his job was because his boss was embezzling the company, and he did not do the right thing and covered up for his boss. He has lost his driver license for almost a whole year due to drunk driving. That must make it difficult to sell cars as a car sales person. He has anger issues. He is trying to defend himself against true accusations by other people on the road. If anything, it sounds a lot more like someone trying to find an outside excuse for his own short coming. My ma cannot be talked to, because she has zero critical thinking. My stepdad is no fun to talk to at all. For that matter most conspiracy theorists are little fun to talk to. Every once in a while, I have a colleague, who swears to being oppressed by the man and the need to rise up against the man. They are usually less informative than reading the paper or a book about the issue.