Three Dream Shorts

Three dreams recalled from last night.

Bottle of whiskey.

The stone-lined path.


Bottle of whiskey. I was with dreams friends — folks known in a dream but not in RL. My dream wife was with me, and we were visiting in one of their homes. It was the collection point, for we were going out to dinner and then have some drinks and fun somewhere. It was a small group, just six or seven people, and the place where we met was a tidy but small, modern apartment.

We were sitting around a table with a white cloth covering it. The host entered. Opening a package, he said, “I got this in the mail today. It’s a prize I won.” He unboxed a crystal bottle of whiskey.

All were impressed. He poured his each a tumbler of his prize for us to sample. I drank mine and thought was amazing. So smooth, and slightly sweet. He offered more, which I accepted. Then, time to go. We walked down to a restaurant with my buddy taking his prize whiskey along. When he reached the restaurant, he poured other fluid into his whiskey bottle, appalling me. I wanted no more after that. Then, the, the bottle changed, with the bottle’s bottom growing rounder, until it would no longer stand upright, but tipped over. After the bottle was straightened three times, it fell over and broke.

The end.

The stone-lined path. I was out with my father, who was with others. I saw him and decided I wanted to avoid him. I could do this because we were outside, under an Interstate bridge. Huge pylons were holding it up. I kept hiding behind them.

Dad was busy doing something. Curiosity bettering me, I craned out to see. He had made a three-foot wide path in the dirt. Now he was lining it with rocks which he found. Seeing me, he called out, “Come help me, Michael. You’ll be good at this.” I went and began helping him lay the stones. While I was doing that, he took me and held me close to him. I felt embarrassed. He said, “I know that you avoid me but I want you to know how much I love you and how proud you make me feel.”

Dream end.


My wife and I were living in a small and cluttered apartment. We delivered a disagreement about how things should be arranged, so I said, I’m going to live in another place.

I left and went down a broad staircase, looking for another place. Women began approaching me, appealing to me to have sex. Some became very aggressive, shoving themselves against me, grabbing me, or passionately trying to kiss me. I kept telling them, “No, this is not going to happen.” They would give up and others would show up.

I went back up to my apartment with my wife. She was happily going about, doing something, dressed in her sweat clothes. I remained irritated with her and asked why she was acting as she was. She didn’t answer, so I left in exasperation. Another woman, in a white sundress with auburn curls highlighted blonde, told me that she wanted to take my clothes off and suggested with go back to her place. I told her, “No. Just leave me alone.”

Dream end

Friday’s Wandering Thought

She said, “Where are my car keys?”

It’s a funny question these days. One car just has an electronic fob, a key contained within it for emergencies. Just one key, though. Her car, older, also has one key, with a fob. The house keys are separate — two, one for the house, and one for the mailbox — on a separate ring. They use garage door openers so she considers the house keys as superfluous and doesn’t take them.

He asked, “Why do you use the plural?” He knew why. He was just causing trouble.

She knew. “I don’t have time for you now. I’m already late. Help me find my keys.”

He went to her purse, opened it, and pulled out her key. “This it?”

“Where’d you find it?”

“Your purse.”

“I already checked it. Well, thanks, got to go.” She took the key and pecked his cheek. “Love you, bye.”

She was out and gone. He sniffed once. “Well, it is just one key, not keys.”

The cat looked at him and yawned.

The Writing Moment

He was doing nothing. By that, he meant that he was playing a computer game. The television was on. Picard. A cat slept on the desk to his right.

His wife was in the recliner to his left, on her computer, playing a game, too, but also voicing disapproval about the television show’s plot.

Suddenly, they were there, more substantial than ghosts, surrounding him. Two seated their asses on the desk on either side of his laptop.

He looked at them. They crossed their arms and smiled. “What’s this about you’re not going to write for a few days?” one said, classic New York accent.

His muses. He wasn’t surprised. “I thought I’d take a few days off.”

The muses laughed. “Why? Stories are waiting. You’re eager to write them.”

“I’m a little tired.”

All laughed again. “Aw, he’s tired,” one behind him said in mocking sympathy.

“So?” the muse on the right asked.

“That’s okay,” another muse said behind him. “Let him go. If he doesn’t want to write, that’s his choice.”

He nodded. “That’s right. Just for few days. My eyes are tired. I feel like I need a break, you know?”

Muses leaned in. They began whispering scenes. He paused his game and watched television.

Or tried. Eager and resigned, he opened a new file.

He’d just write a little. See where it went.

The muses nodded. “That’s the spirit.”

Was it too late for coffee?


Floofployment (floofinition) – Activity one engages in to support, help, or care for animals.

In use: “Unpaid floofployment is common in the U.S. as animals take over people’s homes, and then dominate their lives, but people often feel so enriched by the experience that they’ll sacrifice themselves and their comfort to ensure the floofs are safe, healthy, and happy.

Friday’s Theme Music

Good mornin’. It’s Friday again, March 24, 2023, for the first time, we think.

Shakers of snow have spilled in several places. Tiny flakes laze from a pewter sky. Sun arrived a while again but the clouds have the numbers. 34 F now, the weather lizards explained with great showmanship it will reach 44 F.

Snow earned the cats’ disapproval. Tucker ate and found a warm space. Papi checked the front, back, front, back, front, back, front, back, and finally accepted that no comforting levels of sunshine could be found. Whiskers drooping in disapproval, he’s lounging on the sofa.

Meanwhile, I’ve retreated to the office with a cuppa coffee. With little solar energy feeding me, I needed a brew stat. Musically, The Neurons have imposed some Green Day in the morning mental music stream. I’m listening to “Holiday” (2005). Written in the aftermath of 9/11 and the retaliatory war started by Dubya’s administration, the songwriter was pissed and let fly his feelings. I shared them, because we were warned about WMD even though just months before, Colin Powell was reassuring us they weren’t there. Cheney had a different feel for it and added by Curveball, pushed for the war. They said it was gonna be a cake walk. Said it would pay for itself. Sure. Yeah, it was all dressed up very pretty in patriotism and UN resolutions, but it never made sense. Still does not.

Here’s the music. I wish you all a happy Friday. Stay pos. Cheers

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