Able to Leap Tall Glasses of Gin in a Single Bound

I was awake. It was dark. It was, what? 2:00? 3:00? I was tired, exhausted. Hell, I was probably drunk. I just wanted to drift off to dreams of long houses with many rooms, any one of the recurring settings. I didn't care. Maybe I would find myself in the parking lot of the airport trying to catch a flight to China. Maybe I would walk down the steps of the old lady's house to the basement, under the basement, under the basement, where the demons lived. Maybe I would tour Tijuana Disneyland with the rickety rides and filthy peasants...

Any of them would do, but sleep, that tart temptress, teased and flirted without granting me satisfaction. It was Panic, see? I was robbed of rest by sheer anxiety. I lay there, eyes wide, staring at the fading fluorescent constellations swirling on the ceiling. The sweat began beading on my brow.

Was it work? No.
Was it finances? No.
Was it some harrowing metaphysical conundrum?

No.

It was Vancouver.

Yes. Vancouver. British Columbia. Canada. I had never been, and had no plans to go. Yet, it is not so far away. As large west coast metropolises go, in fact, it is really quite near. Closer, as the crow flies, to Portland, than San Francisco is. Two million grinning Canucks living in (or around) the city, and I had no idea what the place looked like. I had no sense of the streets, or how they were arranged. I knew nothing of the highways, or where to get gas. Were I to be dropped smack-dab in the heart of the dear old Couv, I would have not the first inkling to where I was, or how to get to any place useful, like a bar, for instance, where I could find gin.

These being the days of the World-Wide-Web's infancy, and having no internet service, I did the only logical thing I could think of. I got up, sauntered to my study and stared at the world map hanging on my wall. Hoping against hope that some inspiration would befall me as I stared at the little black dot just north of the Canadian border, my very tired and somewhat-understanding wife came and found me. I told the tale of my torture , and she promised to take me the very next day to buy a map, and led me then back to bed. Somehow, that promise provided peace, and I was able to drift almost instantly off to dream...

"What the hell kind of blog entry is this?" you may ask. "Good lord, are we friends with a freak?" Just hold your horses, Geronimo, there is a point.

You see, my anxiety came from a sense of vulnerability. Like Clark Kent, writhing with weakness at the sight of certain green rocks, the soft underbelly of my own superpower was exposed. Yes, superpower. No, I do not wear tights, (at least not in public) but I have powers nonetheless. Chief among them, is my internal-OnStar-like capability to find my way, and give directions to others, in every major pacific-coast community from Sea World to the Space Needle. However, as I lay in bed that fearful night, the dark veil of mystery, which had surrounded our neighbors to the North, was lifted, and I knew at once that none of my powers could save me, if ever I crossed the border.

The following day, we bought a map, which I have since studied. Still, though, I have never visited.

For the record, my homing pigeon sense of direction is not my only super power. I also have the ability to make anything (ANYTHING) sound dirty. While my third, and lesser, power is my ability to eat more than most normal human beings, when I put my mind to it. (Or, when I am taunted to do so.) I admit readily that I am nowhere near the nasty-likes of that Japanese kid with the hotdogs, but really, he's just an abomination to nature.

So, what about you? Surely everyone possesses some superpower to larger or lesser degrees. What is yours?