I was terribly sick in a dream. Not at first, though. First, ice cream chaos reigned. Ice cream was due to be served to people but supply issues and disorganization plagued the effort. Growing urgently angry, I stepped in to straighten everything out. The ice cream were mostly in little sealed cups. Varieties of flavors abounded. I tasted several before stepping in to fix the issues, and the ice creams were creamy and tasty. I felt I needed to step in because the incompetence on display insulted my sensibilities. Ice cream was being dropped everywhere. Melting. People were going without ice cream. That shouldn’t be, I thought. We have so much ice cream. Too much ice cream is being wasted.
I began organizing pods of people. Some were collecting the ice cream and taking them to marshaling points. Others were handing the ice cream out. Yet, people kept failing at their duties. Despite my efforts, the situation seemed as worse. I worked harder, faster, more demanding. Still no respite from the shortages and errors. The head honcho came down wanting to know the situation. I tried smoothing things over. He believed and accepted. Then he told me, “A little girl is at the front, Piper. Make sure she gets an ice cream.”
Right. I’d get right on that. I plunged my hands into a tub of ice cream cups. OMG, they were all warm. They’d all been opened, too. WTF! The honcho came back, shouting, “Where’s the ice cream for Piper?” “I’m on it,” I shouted back, then cursed, shouting, “All these ice creams have been opened. Why were they opened? Find me one that hasn’t been opened and take it up front to Piper.”
At that moment is when I began feeling sick. I rushed to a toilet, yanking my shorts down as I went. Too late; crap spilled out everywhere. The honcho came back and saw. “Oh, my, let me get someone to clean you up.” I replied, “We’re still looking for ice cream for Piper.”
Sunshine began a slow unveil of a cerulean sky at 5:34 AM. Edging onto the cusp of summer, temperatures in the mid-eighties will dominate our southern Oregon valley with the thermometer’s readouts dipping into the low fifties after the sun slides out of the area at 8:50 PM. Humidity is fading away. The heat grows dryer and more intense. Grasses veer browner. Wispier.
Today is June 17, 2021. It’s a Thursday, named after the pagan God of Thirst. Many still pay homage to Thursday’s roots by seeking thirst quenchers and libations in a mellow ritual called ‘Happy Hour’ after work on Thursday’s. Being a forward-looking dude, I did my genuflecting on Wednesday this week.
Getting ready to paint more of the house interior. Naturally, I’m singing AC/DC’s 1982 song, “For Those About to Paint (We Salute You)”. Oh, sorry, my brain informs me that I was misinformed about the title and subject matter. Never too old to get corrected on these matters.
Here’s the music. Don’t understand how I was wrong on those lyrics all these years. Maybe paint fumes were mesmerizing me. Stay positive, test negative, get the vax, and do as needed with the mask. To your health; cheers.