He accompanied his wife when she went clothes shopping. As he followed her, he began to consider what he’d wear and how he would dress as a woman. It felt like the swath of options and challenges for them are much greater than they are for men. Of course, many demands on women and how they dress are thrust on them by society and shaped by their bodies and coloring. After five minutes, he decided that it was just as well that he was male and didn’t need to think about all those things, starting with bras.
My wife and I had been traveling together but stopping to stay in a town, I went off on my own to visit with friends.
Now I was returning at dawn. I was staggering with exhaustion, having been up all night driving and walking.
I was a little lost. Things looked somewhat familiar but each turn had me pause to frown and figure out where to go.
At last I was in a little blue car. I came out a parking lot and began turning right. A huge red pickup truck went by, just missing me. A second came by and almost hit with both of us swerving at the same time. Both of those vehicles had been on the wrong side of the road. Quick as that, as I’m cursing the other drivers, I remember, this is a one-way street, and it goes that-away. I snap the wheel around to go in the right way, grateful there weren’t more cars coming because that could have been disastrous. Parking behind the two trucks, who simply pulled off, I walk up to apologize to the drivers. The second truck’s driver is a large elderly man, a white fellow with short silver hair, wearing a light blue short-sleeved flannel shirt. He’s walking up to the red truck. Its windows are all blacked out. I can’t see its driver.
I shrug off apologizing. I’ve reached the hotel where my wife and I are staying. I traverse a little alley and enter the rear of an aircraft to cut through to the hotel. People have spread mattresses and blankets across the aisles, and they’re sleeping. There’s also a huge Great Dane sleeping under one blanket. It wakes, sees me, and gets up and moves out of my way. The sleeping people and another little dog, small and white, awaken and see me, and laugh at the situation. I carefully get up on the mattresses and pick my way to the other end of the plane, out and into the lobby.
It’s a light blue lobby, with a coffee shop to one side. A middle-aged dark-haired woman with short black hair and brown hair greets me. I’m exhausted. I ask for coffee and then go to use the restroom. In there, I see myself in the mirror. My hair is dark brown, full and thick, matching my beard and mustache. I look like a wildman who just returned from living in the jungle. I’m wearing pale blue shorts. They’re not mine. I check my pockets for my wallet; it’s there. Finding a brush, I style my hair, beard, and mustache. That instantly transforms me into a really good-looking guy.
Okay, back out at the counter, light blue Formica, I find a glass mug. It has thin brown fluid in it, which might be weak tea, along with ice and a lemon. I sip some as a woman comes up. I realize it must be hers and apologize for drinking her drink but figure, I’ll continue, since I started. I ask for coffee to add to it.
Leaving there, I head for my room. It’s either 126 or 124. I can’t remember and chastise myself for not asking at the desk. The rooms are like little cottages but they’re stacked side by side.
I pull a key out of my pocket. It’s a bizarre skeleton key. I have no idea what it’ll fit, but it’s not a room key. It has a square, almost baroque wire design, with a short skinny portion for the lock. WTH? I have no idea where it came from so I return it to my pocket and then continue to look for the room where we’re staying.
Hard frost whitens bare ground. It’s 31 F (yeah, you know what that is in C) and sunny. Gorgeous, really, with a preternaturally blue sky. Our backyard’s flowering pear still houses branches full of leaves, but they’ve gone lemony yellow. The sunshine striking its upper reaches really brings the color to life.
It’s Tuesday, the twenty-ninth of November in the common era year 2022. Sunrise came at 7:18 AM. Sunset is planned by the forces of nature to finish daylight at 4:40 PM. In between, the temperature will rise into the forties and it might run. There aren’t any clouds so I have a jaundiced view to that but then again, weather.
I have “Heavy Is the Head” by the Zac Brown Band with the late Chris Cornell filling the morning mental music stream. The 2015 song reminds me of something in the late sixties/early seventies era of classic rock that might have originated with Black Sabbath, without the finer lead guitar Sabbath’s Iommi brought. I didn’t hear HItH much on the radio back in ’15 but heard it on television while I was traveling and stopping at places, which seemed weird. But it stuck. The Neurons brought it up today because I was teasing my number one cat after number two cat took a swipe at him, talking about how hard it is to be number one and rule the house. Heavy is the crown on that furry black and white head, which led to the song.
Stay pos, test neg, etc. Have a most excellent Tuesday, as they say. Time to say hello to a cuppa joe and shift the morning into a higher gear. Here’s the music.