Part 4 — Delusions of Grandeur

In many respects, the crash didn’t happen for me at all. I missed it. Slept through most of it and, today, I still don’t really get it.I’m not sure anyone understands this because I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have got it before the crash (in case you hadn’t realised, I can be fairly damned dense at times).

Have you ever learned that you snore (possibly like a diesel truck or worse) and, if so, do you remember the first time you were told?

My response was amused disbelief.

Have you ever gotten so drunk you have ZERO memory of what you did the night before and only learn about it from another person?

Oh yes — been there, done that, got the t-shirt. First time it happened though, I really didn’t believe what I was hearing.

If you understand either of those situations, if you’ve experienced them yourself, then you might understand why I’ve kept back 1 or 2 percentage points for disbelief. In other words, I don’t think I’m nuts for not believing; I think it’s a fairly standard response… that small, hard kernel of self-righteousness or denial that mutters and growls, “Nah. Me? No. Uh-uhh, baby. No way.”

Anyway, from time to time, I still feel this way about the crash. Disbelieving. Although I’ve got a ton of witnesses telling me about it. Photographs. X-Rays. Medical Reports. Invoices for work (“Woyk”) done.

“Nah. Me? No. Uh-uhh, baby. No way.”

And, there’s another good reason why believing in the crash and the operations is difficult for me.

The delusions.