I know that other people's dreams are usually boring, so I'll try to fly through this one really quickly. I dreamed that I missed the first night of a journalism class at Well-Regarded University. I was excoriated, and P, who used to teach there with me, defended me on TV, saying that I had eaten a pepper that had made me sick. This was a fabrication; I had gotten the date wrong. But then I tried to insert my real disease (polycythemia vera) into the excuse so that it wouldn't be 100 percent false. I do, after all, turn red from PV and I did go to the hospital recently (in real life and in the dream), directly-indirectly because of PV. This illustrates my confusion about how important my disease is to me and my mortality. My hematologist is pretty sanguine shall we say about my prospects. I read online that people live 3 or 5 or 10 or 20 years after a diagnosis. Usually men over 60 are the patients. I am not a man over 60. This week I got a prescription for hydroxyurea, scary medicine to reduce my platelet count. I got it filled today and took one of the garish capsules. So far I have not suffered nausea, vomiting, loss of appetite, diarrhea, constipation, severe decrease in blood cell counts, signs of serious infection, seizures, brown urine, blackened skin, yellowing skin, purple skin spots. I have not had tingling/burning/numbness of hands/feet/legs, though I had itching that is a result of the disease, which I'm taking another medication for. *** We went to a birthday party for one of the older guys who plays basketball with L. A woman there told me that her mother-in-law was from Brooklyn, an only child, very proper, who wore white gloves everywhere. The first time she met her intended's family she was in shock. They ate dinner together and yelled throughout the meal. She was so upset she burst out crying.