One rated a prospective place “10/10 – Excellent”. But their comments made him wonder:
“The room was good and bed was super comfortable however there were areas needing a little updating . Looked like there had been a roof leak in the bathroom over the shower area and the exhaust fan in the bathroom sounded like it was dying. Also the lighting in the bathroom was not very bright . The breakfast in the morning was good. Overall I’d say it was ok.”
Head shake. ‘Okay’ is far away from ‘Excellent’ is his mind.
Floofenriched – (floofinition) Experiences, lives, or individuals improved by the presence of, participation of, or interactions with, animals.
In use: “During the COVID-19 pandemic, many individuals found that animals in the house floofenriched their cloistered existence, and adoptions rose sharply.”
Burping blue smoke and violent noise, a pickup truck pulled into the line of stopped traffic.
Tan with brown accent panels and chrome wheels, the pickup truck was elderly, maybe an eighties vintage, dated as far as motor vehicles go. The right-side door – that’s where the passenger is in America – was smashed in. Broad black tape all around the door held the door shut against the body.
It looked to me like he’d been run into. I could see how another vehicle had slammed head on into the pickup truck’s side. Imagined scenarios easily rose. Maybe he ran a stop sign or red light. Then again, maybe the other vehicle ran the traffic order to stop and hit him, who was innocently motoring along.
Or, it could be the result of passion. He and his wife – or his girlfriend, boyfriend, cousin, sister, brother – argued. He fired up his truck to leave. As he was slewing the vehicle around, dust flying, the other person leaped into their vehicle and drove it into his truck, trying to stop him.
Perhaps it wasn’t passion, but a broken drug deal, or an attempted theft. Television tales and real-life reports fertilized possibilities.
Maybe, though, the driver wasn’t involved at all. Perhaps it wasn’t his truck; he was just borrowing it to move some junk.
The maybes are endless, and I’ll probably never know.
After an outrageously fun dream that had me grinning when I awoke, a later dream stamped its imprint, unsettling me.
The second dream was about a friend. Oddly, I can’t recall ever clearly seeing him. I can’t give any description to him except to say he was a contemporary, male, white, and both in our early twenties.
He came to my house and told me that he’d stolen twenty thousand dollars. No details about that were shared. The dream and I focused on what I should do, how can I help him? He’d already told me that he’d told others.
He suggested that he needed to hide the money. I agreed, telling him that I would help. Next thing I know, we’re at his house, a suburban home, in a lower level, in a small den. There’s one oblong window at ground level; I keep looking out it. Dusk is falling.
Green shag carpet covers the floor. He lays down on the floor, face down, legs stiffly together and straight, arms out at ninety degrees, like he’s on a cross. He’s wearing a yellow top and red shorts. I tell him that I think he needs to get out of there. He doesn’t answer. I’m pacing, worrying, and tell him the same thing. He seems to have given up.
I start telling him, “Give me your money and I’ll hide it for you.” That’s when I realize that I stole the money with him, bewildering me. I don’t remember doing that, so how was it possible?
I’ve hidden my share, which was also twenty thousand. I repeat, “Give me your money and I’ll hide it for you. Where is it?” Sirens are getting louder. I don’t doubt they’re coming to his house. He’s given up, so they’ll catch us both. Even if I have escape, I’m sure that he’d tell them who stole the money with him. He’s already told others. The dream ends with the sirens growing louder, me pacing, glancing out a window, running a hand through my hair, trying to understand what to do, and him still in a cross position on the green shag carpet.
Saturday is being served in Ashlandia, where it’s warm and getting hot. Not 110 F hot, no, none of that crazy stuff here today, just 96 today, 100 tomorrow, 103 Monday, and so on for the week.
It’s August 12, 2023, and this is when the region usually heats up in the year, so we’re not surprised. We metaphorically hold our breath and cross our fingers that some wildfires don’t arise from the heat and dry conditions. We’re not special with this high hot so far as the US. Over in Texas, they’re in the hundreds all over the state. Northern California will lounge in low triple digit heat, as will parts of Nevada, southern California, and New Mexico. Of course, in Hawaii, they’re literally on fire in several areas. Then my sister sent me notice that a house in one of the neighborhoods not far from her in the Plum area outside Pittsburgh PA exploded and a house is on fire. You feel for the people of that neighborhood.
And then I went on and caught up on Ukraine news.
Reading the news and weather reports brought my spirits down. More killin’, of course, and lots of general craziness being reported out there. The Neurons delivered “Crazy On You” by Heart to the morning mental music stream (Trademark crazy). The song is a classic rock offering from waaay baaack in 1976. Wow, that’s a thought that momentarily makes me feel ancient.
Then I think, hey, 1976 wasn’t even fifty years ago, so it’s not really that long ago, right? Yes, the optimistic Neurons reply, bobbing their heads. Then I think, and isn’t it cool that this music style was discovered? Isn’t it terrific that we have so many talented people in the world? And, hey, we have the technology to bring these stuff to us across time, although this recording is of a performance Heart did just a few years ago.
But then I think, gosh, with the brains for such technology to be advanced, shouldn’t we be able to solve other problems?
How do you solve a problem like a human? Tech doesn’t seem to be the answer there.
Okay, let’s get on with the day. It’s not going to live itself. Stay pos and be strong. Coffee is available in the kitchen. I got enough in there for at least one other cup. Here’s the music. Cheers
My wife tells me again and again that she is thankful that I’m a ‘good’ driver, that I pay close attention and have fast reflexes. Had to use those again today.
I came down the hilly street and entered the intersection, a straight path. A third into the intersection, and the traffic light went yellow. Shrug; I was already in the intersection. But the young man in the blue Focus turning left going the opposite way decided that he absolutely needed to make that light and rushed into a left hand turn in front of me.
“Holy Jesus,” The Neurons shouted inside my mind. I didn’t answer because I was already telling my right foot to leave the gas pedal to stomp the brake pedal. Full lockup, traction control and anti-braking activating. Wasn’t going fast, so it was a hard, abrupt stop in the middle of the intersection. Fortunately, nobody was near in either direction, saw what was happening, and were slowing.
Two things. As events transpired, I saw the other driver, a young white man with short dark hair — early twenties? — flinch, raise his arm to protect himself against the crash he thought was about to happen, and lean away. Left turn completed, but in the other direction’s vacant left-hand turn lane, he stopped, hands on his wheel. I imagine that he was shaking, realizing how close he’d come to fucking up his day.
Mildly ruffled, I rhetorically addressed him in my car, “What were you thinking,” and drove on. But I recognize, if anything had distracted me in the second before I slammed the brakes, we could have had a much different outcome.
Hello, Friday, my old friend. We’ve come to visit you again.
Friday. August 11, 2023. Ashlandia, where the airport is small and the bus costs a dollar.
68 F out now but they are warning us of a triple digit weekend. Actually, triple digits might not hit until Sunday. I’m hoping we’ll avoid them completed. Today, we’ll be visited by low nineties.
Had a smoke scare last night. We’d gone done to the music in the park. City band’s last performance in the park for the year. It was parked. We enjoyed the music and a longish walk in the cooling evening air through the park by the creek and then headed home. Windows and doors were opened. The evening cooling process commenced.
Then, tennish, the smell of wood smoke snuck in through the windows. Strong smell in less than a minute, coming from all directions. This is unusual; usually the smell strikes from one to two directions, letting us close those windows will leaving a few others in the opposite direction open. And the smoke’s smell was very fresh. Yeah, you get to know these things when you worry about wildfires.
After closing the windows, I went out to test how strong the smell was, get the cats in, and see if I saw any threats or heard any sirens. Nope. Back inside I headed to neighborhood, city, and fire websites for warnings of a fire and checked the police and fire department communications. Nope.
Hour later, I checked, and the smokiness was faded. Two windows were cautiously opened and I answered sleep’s summons. Sky today is clear and blue. Fingers crossed, it’ll stay like this. Sinuses and throat disliked that smoke dose, so there was some saline clearing, coughing, and blowing done today.
The Neurons have drawn up Paul Simon’s song, “One Trick Pony”, from over fifty years ago, for the morning mental music stream (Trademark fragmented). Frankly, this isn’t a stretch and is strictly politically driven. Reading about the latest GOP efforts to undermine democracy in Florida (notes from parents needed for nicknames to be used at school — but tell me again how they’re all about freedom and small government, please) and Texas (where a Trump-appointed judge directed lawyers to attend eight hours of training by a right-wing group, the Alliance Defending Liberty) led to a rant with my wife. We were both ranting. Missouri got thrown into the rant after we discussed Ohio and the voters decisive returns on the GOP’s efforts to criminalize and block abortion. There was a humorous moment to it when a right wing radio host complained about Joe Biden’s father’s behavior in WW II. Remember WW II? Prominently features NAZIs and White Supremacy, you know, the sort of people we see now at GOP rallies. They have chutzpah, if nothing else, but then again, they’re singing to a cult. Anyway, “One Trick Pony” is today’s theme music.
Coffee is available in the break room. Be strong, and stay pos. If that doesn’t work, try the coffee. It’s pretty good. Here’s the music, and away we go.
I feel liberated. Released. Like I’ve been locked up in a building and now the doors have been opened and I can go anywhere.
Yeah. Finished the first draft of another novel.
I also feel humbled and happy. Satisfied.
I struggled with finishing. Kept running into a wall with where those final chapters would go. I had to reach the odd realization and understanding that the character is not me. The character had much more to give, more to use. They understood things that I did not. I just had to let go and accept that. Once that finally took place, the ending fell into place, and here we are.
Now it must be edited, revised, etc. But the storyteller is free to start another tale. Almost as if signaled, I saw something and a new adventure began taking shape.
Michael Seidel, writer 