My Fracas

 My Fracas

I am constantly being reminded of my recent 'fracas'. When I heave myself out of my chair I  realise I have a bruised left hip, and a sprained left wrist. When I look in the shaving mirror I find I have a small bump above my left eye.

I assure you that I had done absolutely nothing wrong. But I was being pursued by two rather boisterous youngsters. And the mood was deteriorating. I thought I had thrown them off,  but no; there they were again close on my heels. So I decided to tackle the front one and go for his legs. I threw myself with maximum force at that target, missed his legs but, flailing my arms rather futilely in his general direction, I fell to the ground and bumped my head.

Frustrated and rather sore, I found myself on the floor in the narrow gap between my bed and the wall. I had dragged the duvet off the bed and had banged my head on the radiator.  Oh dear! I crawled back onto the bed, pulled the duvet back on top and went straight back to sleep. 

Normally, when awake, I am well controlled and rather passive, looking before leaping and thinking twice before making any irreversible decision. It is while asleep that I get into trouble. Not every night by any means, but six or eight times a year. Twice I broke the great brass bedside lamp in Josie's guest room. Several times I kicked my companion. Once I hit her in the face with my fist. Nothing to do with her; my assailants are un-named younger males. She is unfortunately in the wrong place at the wrong time. My father has not figured in my dreams for decades. He died 40 years ago.

You might be inclined to suggest I try psychoanalysis. To see who these anonymous demons really are. I am disinclined. Ever since reading Jones' Life and Work of Sigmund Freud back in 1970, I have preferred not to tinker with my mind, in case the 'motivator' sprung out like a watch-spring and I could not coax back in. 

One day I may go too far. One day I might submit to analysis.