Don’t you hate it when you say that you’re going to do something at nine thirty and discover it’s already nine thirty-two? Almost as bad as picking up your coffee cup and finding it empty.
Yeah.
Compelling
It was the fourth series of the show. I’d watched and enjoyed two episodes. Character driven but with a strong plot, the pacing was fast, with powerful acting. Then I watched the third episode…
As George T. would say, “Oh myyyy…”
I had to know what happened next. The plotting became diabolical, with more twists and cutbacks than a lonely mountain road. The characters’ complexities increased, the acting stayed sharp and the pacing intensified. WTH, I thought as Monday slipped into Tuesday, I’ll watch one more. Then I watched another, and then, well, only one remained.
So it was that I’d binge-watched the final four episodes. And it was fucking brilliant and clever, what I look for in my entertainment. No wonder it’s been consistently nominated for awards, and often wins. Love that series, but they’re so far apart. Just like they do to me with Game of Thrones, Stranger Things, and several other series I enjoy.
Sure, I didn’t get to bed until two thirty on Tuesday morning, but I have no regrets, and lots of coffee.
Floofgrate
Floofgrate (floofinition) – a housepet’s habit of changing their sleeping location(s).
In use: “During the winter, the cats and dogs floofgrated from window to window, following the sun’s path.”
The Destination Dream
I was moving again in last night’s dream. My home that I was selling was a large white house. Built circa the 1950s – hey, that’s when I was born – the home featured a large front porch, two sprawling sugar maple trees, and a large green yard with squared off sidewalks.
The dream’s beginning found me doing yard work. I was busy and happy. In a brief aside, I then go to work and tell a woman how to use a specific computer program to conduct a search. She’s mute during the entire exchange, leaving me doubtful about whether she understood what the search could do to save her time, or if she understand what I told her. I would check back on her.
As I returned to yard work, my wife accosted me. She needed to go to an organizing event for some activity that she was involved with, and wanted me to drive her. We argued briefly, but I resigned myself. We would take our truck, I told her, leading her to a small Ford Courier or Chevy LUV sized vehicle, in other words, a small truck. A white tarp covered the truck. When I pulled the tarp aside, I had to dump water off the tarp, and worried about the trunk having water damage. But it seemed fine. Weirdly, the trunk had no top.
I got in one side, and was awaiting my wife. Two other women got in as well. I asked them who they were, and they said that my wife told them that they could get a ride with us. I had not problem with that, but then realized I didn’t have a steering wheel because I was on the wrong side of the truck. After getting out and circling the truck, I told the woman behind the steering wheel that she needed to move. She wanted to know why. I told her that I needed the steering wheel, which made her laugh.
As I waited for her to move, I looked at my sidewalks under the sugar maples. They all ha a green hue. I worried about what caused that and then noticed that my yard needed edging.
My wife arrived, so I jumped in the truck and took off. She didn’t know where the event was, so we started aimlessly driving around. As we did, she got angry, which made me angry. She was angry because we were lost, and I was angry because she didn’t know where we were supposed to go. Eventually, I saw another woman. Pulling over, I asked her if she knew where the event was.
She showed me on a cell phone. She and I then discussed where I was. Her phone showed where I’d driven, depicting my path as a fat red line. I saw how I’d circled around the same area several times. I wasn’t far from my destination but unsure how to get there. I thought I needed to go one way, but the woman corrected me, showing me a quick, direct path on her phone. Meanwhile, my wife and the other two women had left the truck and were walking around. I called out to them that I knew where we needed to go. They finally came over.
Then I paused to go back to the woman that I’d shown how to use the search engine. She still wasn’t using it, so I showed her again. Then she seemed to understand. Feeling pleased that progress was being made, I got into the truck with my wife and the other two women and drove them to their destination.
Lot of women in this dream. I see all sorts of things percolating through my mind in this dream, and it’s very positive. It makes me smile.
Monday’s Theme Music
Today’s song came via the weather. Our forecast for today said it will be sunny but a drizzle was falling, so, you know, I was a mite skeptical. When sunshine finally broke through, so did a Donovan song, “Sunshine Superman” (1966).
I enjoy this video. Television, music, and entertainment all seemed simpler, didn’t it?
Flooflumph
Flooflumph (floofinition) – 1. (noun) a housepet’s movement with heavy tread. 2. (verb) (slang) a term used in reference to a clumsy housepet.
In use: “The big lab was such a flooflumph as a puppy, all paws and legs, thundering and crashing when he ran, that it was amazing to see him as a mature and majestic adult, trotting and sprinting with grace.”
Sunday’s Theme Music
Piddling through the morning and ruminating about what to do today and this week, I drifted into channels that went, “Life. It’s just a game we play.”
That naturally activated certain cells. Next thing that I know, I’m streaming Al Wilson’s “Show and Tell” (1973) because of that one set of lines go, “Show and tell. Just a game I play when I want to say, I love you.”
It’s another song from that era whose every note is familiar. Reflecting on it as I walked to write, I realize that the song makes me nostalgic for that period in a way that other songs don’t. Perhaps it’s the words and their sentiments, and the way that Al Wilson delivers them. It could be the chilly and windy weather stirring up memory flashes of being in Penn Hills, PA, when the song was popular. The sky’s color out here today harkens back to memories of snow warnings.
We don’t have snow warnings here today, but some rain is forecast. As usual, untangling the threads of memories and impressions are too much. I’ll just live with the song and nostalgia.
A Chaotic Moving Dream
There I was, in the midst of people and stuff on rolling hills of green grass. Stuff, being a broad, vague word, amply covers it. Stuff was everywhere, so vague that I can only say, I looked around and saw stuff, because there was too much to take in.
People were coming and going, including friends. I ‘m expecting this. I’m getting ready to move. A friend’s telling me that I need to organize. Make lists and do research about my move. Yes, I was answering him, I do and I will. Happy, I looked forward to my move.
*click* My mind shifted. What should be Sunday’s theme song. Mamas and Papas. No, that’s Monday. Kris Kristofferson, “Sunday Mornin’ Coming Down”, or Johnny Cash. U2, “Sunday Bloody Sunday,” the Monkees, “Pleasant Valley Sunday”. “Easy Like a Sunday Morning”. “Sunday Girl”. No, no, no.
*click* Shadows grew long. Sunlight dimmed. The green hills began retreating into darkness.
People are rushing about. Others are moving. Time for me to move. I made lists and gave them to friends. This is what I need. The lists were very specific. Go get these things. People reviewed the lists and talked about the items. I don’t remember anything on the lists. I was bubbling with happiness.
Had a black index box filled with cards. It’s the black box, I think. Items are on the cards. I flip through, picking from the cards, what do I need, what do I need? Had a black book to look things up, research what everything meant, so my list was accurate. I hadn’t looked anything up. I wasn’t certain that I needed to but one friend was present, insisting that I should. I resisted, but told him that I would.
Oh, sudden and sharp, I needed to have a bowel movement. Where’s the toilet, where’s the toilet, where’s the toilet.
I begin running around. The toilet is out in the open by my friends. They’re talking to me. I’m babbling about needing to take a shit, scrambling to get my pants down, and sit on the toilet, hurry, hurry, hurry. My friends are watching. I’m calling for privacy. They’re turning away. I’m thinking, movement, movement, another kind of moving, what’s with all the moving? I sit on the commode. The movement begins. I’m laughing because I’m thinking, I’m getting rid of shit. I tell my friends that.
I’m not worried. I’m happy. The move has begun. I start singing, “Bust A Move”.
The dream ends.
