Monday’s Theme Music

Monday’s dawn struggled to win over night. Reinforced by a packed sky of stern clouds, light was minimized. I looked at my watch. What time is it? Where is the sunshine?

It’s September 19, 2022. A downpour soon drowned out the day. Thunder’s drum line punctuated the mood. Traffic snarls complicated by wet roads inundated the radio news.

I went onto a covered porch and consumed several lungfuls of rain-enriched air, savoring scents of wet dirt, leaves, and trees, which sounds a little disgusting as I write it, but if you’ve had it, you know it. Our temperature? 19 C, so t’aint bad. Their suggested high of 78 F raises my eyebrows.

In other news, I hear that Queen Elizabeth II died. Little facetious. It’s a matter of history and it’s being given sprawling coverage. She was Queen my entire life to this point, an American’s anchor in Europe. I enjoyed many of the stories about her. I understand, a little, the pro and con arguments of having royalty in a country. It’s their nation, their decision, although I understand some disagree with that in Australia. As with many matters when you’re outside of a situation and seeking understanding, it’s complicated.

The Neurons have again selected a weird song for the morning mental music stream. Ozzy — need I give a last name — I’ll clarify that Harriet wasn’t present — is singing “Shot in the Dark” from 1986. For a long period, I believed Ozzy wrote it, only to discover as legal issues about the song arose that this was written and performed by others first. “Why this song?” I query The Neurons. “Are you trying to tell me something?” My cats are more forthcoming than The Neurons. I hear only snickers in reply.

Stay positive, and test negative. Having gone through a mild case of COVID, I don’t believe you want to enjoy it for yourself. Just made fresh coffee. Care to partake? Mind if I do?

Here’s the music. Cheers

The Three Cadets Dream

A whirling dervish of a dream. The velocity and fullness reduced what I could record.

TL/DR, I posed as a young cadet to use a computer, got caught and left. I drove a big white pickup and was at a funeral parlor. I spoke with a friend about how he processed his wife’s death.

Main elements included being with three young men and sometimes pretending I was one of them. They were cadets in a junior military training program. Don’t know the service, etc. Punishment was meted out for small infractions; the punishment was ‘take a sip of water’ from a small glass of water. Observing the three of them, I surreptitiously saw their passwords so I could log onto systems under their names. The one I was doing this with most was Josh, a big, gangly white guy from Idaho.

I went with the three to a classroom. Located outside under a warm blue sky, the classroom was a square of computer terminals with chairs. Instructors in the old camouflage battle dress uniforms sat on a wall monitoring activities. I wanted to get on a terminal to write. I had nothing else to write with and it was urgent for me to write.

The three had white vinyl binders. Inside it, one to a page, was a required essay subject. They were supposed to practice writing these five-hundred-word essays and then go to the computer and write them in the system from memory. Figuring I went get in the system under Josh’s name, write one of his essays for him, and then use the computer as I needed, I studied the topics and selected one.

We went in. I began executing my plan under an instructor’s cynical glare. I worried about being caught because I was much older than the cadets and my grooming was not to standards. The instructor noted an immediate infraction in my posture and addressed it in cool, low tones. “Take a sip of water,” she told me. I addressed my posture and sipped, then logged on. I was writing Josh’s essay on what I liked where I lived when I was young at home. Josh was from Idaho. I’ve never been but thought I could take a stab about the land’s beauty, hunting with friends and family, something out of those veins. But progress was impeded by the instructor interrupting me every few with notice of infractions and telling me, “Take a sip of water.”

My worry meter was cranked up. I wanted to get done and get out. Longer I stayed, greater chance of exposure, etc. And with my state and age, greater time equaled greater exposure equaled greater risk of being caught, which means I would fail.

Yes, other instructors took notice of me. Visiting senior officers did, too. They began a passive-aggressive campaign, standing behind me and telling another cadet sitting to my side to tell me that I was out of reg, etc., a drip of constant criticism. I slowly fumed and finally had it, identifying myself to the commander when he came in and made a snide remark. One of my commanders from RL, his posture instantly changed. He replied, “I know who you are. I’m just having fun with you.”

I decided to leave. The commander cajoled me, “Stay, relax, lighten up. Sometimes you need to relax, Seidel.”

But I was angry and set. Good-bye. He ruefully answered the same.

I caught up with the three cadets I’d been with. One of them had been working on an essay and showed it to me. His essay was supposed to be about CADRE, an acronym and what it meant to him. He took it literally, explaining what each letter represented. I lambasted him for being so literal, telling him, this is not what they want.

We were talking and walking. They got into a shiny white new Chevy pickup with me, a huge beast of machinery. I drove through the town talking with them about how to write better essays. Then I pulled into a side road, dirt, green with grass clumps. A woman was with five dogs and a ginger kitten. I worried about the ginger kitten being hurt by the dogs or the kitty being hit by a car. But another man arrived as I did, corralled the dogs and let her pick up the kitten. It seemed like those two knew each other.

I pulled into a large facility and back up to park. Difficult for me in this truck. Don’t know why we were there. I went into…confused miasma of things… I ended up with mud sticking to my shoes. I pulled them off to clean them, along with my socks. I was in a hurry to leave. When I parked, I thought I’d been to close other vehicles and thought I’d grazed a few, and I saw that a man was in one of them.

All the vehicles were white trucks like the one I drove.

The man got out and conducted a stony inspection of the trucks and gave me a look. I got into the truck to leave. The truck drifted back, scrapping more vehicles. I realized that my truck was too close to the others to move, so I got out and pushed it to one side so that I could leave.

We didn’t leave but went into the building. I discovered this was a funeral parlor. The man came in and met with family. They were in mourning over a loss. Don’t know who. I ran into my friend, Mel. I asked him how he’d coped when he lost his wife. He said that he didn’t handle it well, drinking too much and doing stupid shit, trying to sell computers.

Dream end

Dream note: Mel is a real life friend and looked exactly as I know him. His wife is alive.

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