Thursday’s Theme Music
Today is Thursday, February 17, 2022. A few sketchy cloud islands keep the sky from achieving a perfect blue. A robust sun brought the light and heat at 7:05 AM. Temperatures have climbed quickly. It’s 46 F now and we expect a high of 61 F before the Earth’s spin steals the sun from our sector at 5:46 PM.
I’m feeling a little off today. Not sick or anything. Just behind on my routines. Explanation:
I have a young ginger cat. We’ll call him Trouble, which is not his real name, but I want to protect his privacy. After going out at two AM and coming back in at two twenty (it was a cold night, about 29 F), At 5:42 AM, Trouble woke me again with his song of his need to leave again, to be wild and free, outside. I let him out and used the bathroom. While in there, the sick cat asked for food. “Okay, I’ll feed you, baby,” I said. I had a can open for him, got him the food, and settled back into bed.
Or tried. Tucker, the house’s Prime Floof, had taken over my spot and was purring like a revving motocycle. I tried shifting him, but cats can multiply their body weight by over one thousand percent at will, and I couldn’t budge him. I had to reconfigure myself and my space.
That was when Trouble came knocking to come back in.
I let Trouble in. He proceeded to tell off sick cat. I provided sick cat with another helping of food. 6:15. Back to bed. A few minutes later, sick cat began beating his water bowl and complaining. I got up to address his issue. Water bowl was empty. But I’d just filled it last night —
“Yeah, whatever,” reality said, “it’s empty now.” I refilled the water bowl. Went back to bed.
Trouble arrived. Could I please let him out, OMG, it’s so important that I let him out now.
I let Trouble out and lectured him about what he was doing to me. Returned to bed. Drifted to sleep reflecting on remembered dreams.
Guess who came knocking to come back in?
It was now eight. I’m usually up by now but I felt exhausted. I began exercising, which will usually stir up enough blood movement to reach the point that I can get to the kitchen, make coffee, and resuscitate my heart. “More sleep,” my body whispered with seductive tones. “You got it,” my brain replied, because he’s such a pushover.
Back to bed I went and did not get up until ten AM.
When I saw the time, my brain shrieked, “Ten AM! OMG. I’m in bed so late.” My body replied. “So? You don’t work. You have no employment. What difference does it make?”
“I still have things to do,” I reply with royal indignation, “like drink coffee, for example.”
“And feed cats,” sick cat said.
I have a song, “Uprising” by Muse in the morning mental music stream. I did it as a theme song not long ago and don’t want to repeat it today. That forced me to find another song. Nothing was coming to mind. The neurons finally started circulating “Cradle Of Love” by Billy Idol (1990). “Why?” I asked the neurons. “Because we like it,” they said, then went on with petulance, “Why not?”
Right. Why not.
Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax and boosters when you’re able. Here’s the music. I’m crawling into the kitchen for some coffee. Cheers
A Computer Dream
In my twenties, I was working in a computer center. Pretty low-level lights, and warm. The computers were red, about seven feet tall and four feet wide, with black and silver fronts thick with instrumentation. I had a clipboard and was going about, busy checking readouts.
An alarm went off. Reaching up, I hit a large, square black button at the top of the machine before me. Almost instantly, I realized I’d made a mistake: that was the off switch for the entire computer center. I pressed the button again, thinking that if I was fast enough, it wouldn’t go off.
Another alarm began sounding. A female voice said that the system was shutting down. Groaning and cursing emerged from all over. My supervisor, a female a few inches shorter than me, came over. I told her that I’d accidently pressed the off button. She was all smiles. “It happens.”
“I can turn it back on,” I offered.
“No,” she answered. “We’ll just call it a day.”
As everyone packed up and left, I went back to the broad, flat expanse of my desk. Binders of fanfold paper were stacked on my right. It was my plan to go through them. A male co-worker came by and mentioned that he needed to find someone to sweep up the computer center “because the cleaning crew was coming in”. I said I’d do it. Finding the broom, I went through, sweeping piles of paper coffee cups and sheets together. As I did, I mused, weird to clean for the cleaning crew.
The dream ended.