A recent television ad extolling Fitbit and Google’s virtues suggests, what if the two entities combined? I wondered, would they be called Goobit or Fitle?
I was a young man, as I often seem to be in my dreams these days. Visiting at a childhood friend’s home. He wasn’t there. His mother, Arlene — who is deceased in RL — was hosted several of us attending a local school. While visiting, we were all watching television. I settled down on the blue carpet and went to sleep.
I awoke sometime later. Sitting up, I discovered that I was in a short-sleeved black dress. A little more explanation is needed. The dress was black, but see-through. It buttoned in the front. It had wide seams which weren’t transparent, and front pockets which also weren’t transparent. The dress came down to my knees, and I was fully dressed, in the same clothes as before.
Standing, I wondered what had happened and how I’d come to be wearing that dress. I attempted to take take it off but the buttons couldn’t be undone. It was tight, but with some maneuvering, I managed to pull it up over my head. Just as I am finishing, I hear a soft tearing sound. That stops me from trying any longer. Just then, my friend’s mother comes in with a tray of food and drink, telling me that it’s time to get ready. She goes on to explain that she put that dress on me to stay warm, sets the tray down, and hastens to help me. As she pulls it over my head and off, she tells me that she hopes she can get this off without tearing it because it’s special to her. We then hear it tear more. Looking at it, she sees that it’s torn and is dismayed, but then tells me to eat because I need to shave, dress, and go.
I eat an egg salad sandwich from the tray and drink coffee, and then start dashing around. My clothes are upstairs but the bathroom I’m to use is down below. As I hustle around, going up and changing clothes, then going down and shaving, others arrrive. I hear that my friend’s father will be arriving at any moment. (He passed away in RL a few years ago.) I want to be dressed and ready to go before he gets there. But then, he comes in.
I’m called upstairs. As I go up the steps, someone else tells me that Fred — the father — and Arlene want to see me. I step into the dining room where they are. Fred has a box on the table, and is opening. As he says hello to me, Arlene explains that Fred just purchased his first CD player and she wanted to know if I had any CDs for him to play because he doesn’t have any. I tell them that I have just the thing and dash downstairs.
I’m thinking that I’ll loan them several of my classical music CDs, which will surprise them, thinking that it’s more like the kind of music that they would like, rather than the rock I listen to. But I brought my little CD case, and there’s no classical music in it. I select a few blues CD and take them back up to them. Grinning, I explain the whole thing about the classical music CD.
I’ve not seen my friend since my late teens. Oddly, I’ve dream of him since then, as well as his parents.
The Day Gods delivered Sunday. The Cloud Gods poured frothy clouds across the sky and added a tincture of gray to them. The Sun Gods arrived at 6:59 this morning and pushed some clouds aside, admitting slates of blue sky and sunshine. The Tree Gods yawned and made no changes to the panoply of colorful leaves.
It’s November 13, 2022.
The Sun Gods will remove the valley’s light at 4:51 PM, letting the Night Gods creep back in. Meanwhile, the Gods of Heat and Warmth have the temperature at 40 F. They will have us crack 52 F, they tell us through their spokespeople. Since it all started, the Wind Gods have implemented gusts and winds, and the Sky Gods have cleaned up the clouds, giving sunshine and blue sky unfettered control — for the moment. It’s a typical day for the gods as they act and counter act, working for a sustained advantage.
Reading the news about a rookie cop shooting someone in the back after misidentifying them has The Neurons busy. It was a tragic mistake, the police chief tells us, and the rookie is fired. The family of the teenager — that’s the shooting victim — and the girl who was with him are distraught. But, it’s a mistake. Mistakes happen. Seizing that, The Neurons pour the 1983 Men At Work song, “It’s A Mistake”, into the morning mental music stream.
The Coffee Gods have come through with their goods, so I’m off. Stay positive and test negative. Here’s the music. Wishing you the best. Cheers
He has noticed that as he gets older, he more frequently pronounces things as ‘just right’. It’s like he’d becoming one of the three bears who visit Goldilocks.