The Writing Moment

The muses think that he must be finishing the novel in progress. Or maybe it’s a seasonal thing. His imagination is fertile this week. Story and setting ideas keep springing up.

He’s cautious with the muses’ ideas and energy. They favor the blurt, when imagination is unleashed and writing like crazy, unedited and full of energy, is the norm. They’re not fond of the editing and revising, cutting and polishing phases.

He knows the muses, though, and understands their roles. He’s grateful, but to be the writer he wants to be, sometimes the muses must be politely deterred so he can continue the current phases and finish a novel which pleases him.

“Patience,” he tells the muses. “Your time is coming soon. Be patient.”

A Pair of Dreams

I begin in off-white thermal underwear. I dance through town, this place in which I RL live. Early spring is in effect. I leap and pirouette, twirl and bow.

An artist brush is in my hand. I flicked colors at things, dipping my brush in the colors already available, making everything bolder, brighter, sharper. Although it goes on for a while, that’s all to the dream.

It’s a younger version of me, a hybrid between my teenage self and my middle-aged individual. I smile thoughout the dream.

I land in another dream. I’m with another man. We’re in blue hospital scrubs. I know, I’m a med tech. We’re in a small city. Situated on several hills, a bay embraces the land. It’s a busy place, full of hurrying traffic, vehicular and on-foot.

A hue rises from a hospital on the hill. One of my peers shouts, “It’s a success.”

I am jealous. I wanted to be part of that. I feel cheated.

But I congratulate him and the rest and spread the news of the success. It was an arduous and dangerous operation but the patient was doing well. We were pleased. We’d helped develop catheters which saved the patient. This was their first use.

A surgeon came, gloved and masked. “They worked well,” he said. “They want some at the other facility.”

“I’ll take them,” I declare, picking up a brown box of them.

The surgeon says, “They need to be cut, shorter, and narrower.”

“I’ll do that,” I reply.

I begin walking. Balancing the box, I employ a scalpel and start precisely cutting the pale white catheters. My peer follows, saying, “Let me do something. You can’t carry the box and cut the catheters.”

But I am, continuing as we weave our way through crowds.

“The catheters are bleeding,” the other tech says.

I nod. “That’s normal. These are partly organic. That’s why they work.”

End dreams.

I Don’t Know

The cat is stalking me through the house

Staring at me and asking for something which

Might be a mouse but

I don’t know

And the wife is yelling loudly at me

For something that I was supposed to do yesterday

And all I reply back to her can be

I don’t know

And they’re showing me on the TV screen

Telling a story, the gist is me, and what it’s about

I’m waiting to see ‘cause

I don’t know

The fish in the aquarium was taken to the sea

And if you ask, I’ll tell you it was me

But if you ask why I did it, you probably know

I don’t know

I write this because it had to be

Muses arose and bushwhacked me

I asked them for explanations, see

and they replied,

I don’t know.

Wednesday’s Theme Music

Overture, hit the lights, this is, the night of nights.

Yes, it’s book club Wednesday. K is hosting. The house is clean as a whistle. I don’t understand that expression but know it from older people using it in my youth. As a developing elder, I feel it incumbent to carry the tradition forward so that future generations can ask, what does that mean? I understand it from context and use, sure, the eighteenth-century expression doesn’t seem straightforward to my mind.

The vegan brownies are done and turned out great. She used the same recipe and materials used for the disastrous test brownies. Shrug. The other little vegan cream cheese with cranberry sauce and orange zest with puff pastry will be baked later today.

We picked up four bottles of wine for the book club but this isn’t a wine drinking book club. One or two will have a glass of wine. This just gives them options. Our wine stand’s stock declined in the last two years. We usually had twenty to thirty bottles on hand. We were down to twelve. The beverage predictions are that one bc member will drink decaf, three will drink water, and the rest will drink hot tea.

White fog envelopes the sky out of the house’s west side today. New snow fell. Just two inches but enough to cocoon our land in white. White pine branches protect scattered patches of green grass. Black asphalt and dark wet cement rivers through. But bold sunshine is skating in from the east from its rising time of 6:35, blasting our eyes off the snow when we look out the windows on the other side. It’s 35 F now but we expect 41 F before the sun puts us in its rearview at 6:09 this evening.

This is Tuesday, March 8, 2023.

The last original member of Lynyrd Skynyrd, Gary Rossington, died a few days ago. Skynyrd was part of my youth’s broad musical tapestry and his passing brings that period and their songs to mind. The Neurons selected a humorous song from 1973 for the morning mental music stream, “Gimme Three Steps”. Song is derived from a true story which happened to a band member.

Okay, coffee is at hand. Stay pos. This is Wednesday. Act like you own it. Like you got dreams and you’re gettin’ after ’em. Time to do it. (A phrase which encouraged The Neurons to kick in a song by the Black Eye Peas, “I Got A Feelin'”.)

Here’s a terrific live version of “Gimme Three Steps” from ’76. Cheers

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