bickering with the echoes of the soul

I found out yesterday that one of my grandparents (the one through my mother's second marriage) was recently diagnosed with terminal cancer. He refuses to take medication. And his birthday is Thursday. What do you say to a terminally and painfully ill birthday boy?

Last night, I had dream that was told in a thoroughly narrative voice, and since I plan to be a writer some day (I haven't decided which one, but one of them), here it is.
( Cut for Length )

A Cambridge friend, Super-Id, says that whenever she thinks about me in Brazil, she imagines me with a grass skirt and maracas. I wonder if truth is stranger than fiction.