The Sick Dream

I was at work. Tired. Becoming more tired. Then, sleepy. Eyes were falling shut. Body slumping over. Nothing I could do.

A friendly co-worker, male, was trying to take care of me. Help me. But he was helpless. My work shift ended. He tried helping me leave. I couldn’t. Everything was a strain. He was telling me, “Come on, I’ll get you help.” I was replying, “I’m okay, I just want to sleep.”

Became separated from him. Found myself on a cement sidewalk by an asphalt road. An intersection. Naked. Crawling. Barely awake. Cars passing me. One, a black Chevy Suburban, stopped. The driver asked, “Are you alright? Do you need help?”

I kept going. Found clothes. Blue jeans. Pale tee shirt. Boots. Managed to dress. Get on my feet. Walked, swaying and stumbling. Eyes barely open. Brain coddled in thick pudding. Thoughts almost non-existent. Had garbage in a small white bag. Began looking to dispose of it. Saw a booth. Constructed of plywood. Took it there.

Food booth. The man behind the booth counter asked, “What do you want to order?”

I handed him the bag of garbage. He took it. Tossed it away behind him. “What do you want?”

Mute, I shook my head. Moved on. Thinking, sick. Still sick. But getting better. I was walking. On my feet. Swaying less. People began speaking to me. I began comprehending them. Interacting with them. Answering questions. Two young women joined me. They asked me if I need help. No, I was okay. Then, could I help them? They needed information.

Initially, I balked. Wasn’t my area. Didn’t know anything about it. Then I told them I would help. I would find the answers to their questions and get back to them. Trotted from one place to another, seeking answers. Inadvertently stumbled through someone’s garden while attempting a short cut. They’d just set it up. Planted it. Nothing was growing. Backing out, I fixed the damages. Then ran down to the other end of town. Thinking, anyone seeing me would think he runs everywhere.

I was running everywhere through a busy, hilly city. Felt good. The sickness was gone. I stopped running. Looked around to see where I was. Thought, where do I want to go?

Dream end.

A Dad Dream

Dad called me in my dream. Told me that he wanted me to be more like I used to be. “How was that?” I asked. “Silly. Goofy. Fun-loving,” he answered.

I didn’t know I’d changed. A lot was happening in dream world, so I ended the call. Part of what was happening were politicians making speeches. One was a woman. POC. Married to a white male with silver hair. Hubby was pretty much an idiot. He marched up and down the street making ludicrous announcements. I kept thinking, no, that’s not right. I heard the pol state, “I think I’m just about done with him.”

Meanwhile, I was going around my compound. Showing it off. Explaining that I had plenty of room for a number of people to love. I had seventeen homes. Most were new. Brick. Two stories. Large yards. All set off asphalt streets.

So I’m involved, walking around, telling people about the houses, showing them what is what, talking to the pols, when Dad calls again. In the middle of doing multiple things, I answered the phone in a silly way, like, “Hello, this is Michael, unsecure line, U.S. Air Force.” As I’m speaking, I thinking, that’s wrong, what am I saying?

It was Dad. He was laughing. “That’s more like it. That’s how you used to be.”

We discuss that for a few. Then he says, “You should get military veterans to help you.”

I reply, “I have some.”

Then, like that, Dad and I are walking toward one another, hanging up our phones, as I point out veterans and tell him, “I have all kinds of veteran helping me take care of people and the houses. They’re all volunteers.”

Dad replies, “Well, that’s good. It looks like you have it all taken care of.”

Dream end.

Don’t You Know

Took a flight to the moon last night

Traveling real fast on beams of light

If you didn’t look you probably missed the sight

Don’t you know?

Slipped in by Mercury

Swept on in past the sun

Man, you wouldn’t believe the fun

Don’t you know?

Then we turned and left our galaxy

Flying like a bird on a universal breeze

Firing past time like it couldn’t be

Don’t you know?

Went on to the Universe’s edge

Stood there like it was a window ledge

Thought about jumping but fell back instead

Don’t you know?

Stayed in my room deep in dreams

Making up stories and fantastic schemes

Man, you should have been part of the scene

Don’t you know?

A Confused Dream

Middle-aged, I was teaching others. Two younger people, male and female, were under my tutelage. I was teaching them to deliver something. The something was a small white contain, about the size of a six ounce jar of skin cream, with gold metallic lettering. Don’t know what the lettering said.

This was to be delivered to customers for use in a larger project. It was important to the customers. My assistants and I had three cars to choose from. Wanting one of them to drive, I let them choose which car. A small white car was selected. One began driving. Raining, we were on a crowded freeway. Underway, we discovered that they didn’t know where they were going because they had not taken the print out with them.

I acknowledged that as my error, as I was supposed to be teaching them. Lesson one, I told them: first, make sure you know where you’re going.

We stopped to address this. The male student began peeling the bottom of the white jar open. He was removing layers of lead. “What are you doing?” I asked, amused.

“I’m going to look inside the jar to see what it’s in it. That might give us a clue about where we’re supposed to take it.”

“One, there’s a black lid on top to open the container,” I said. “And opening it will ruin it for the customer. We’ll go back and get the address.”

We returned to HQ. This was a small office building, parking underneath, additional parking outside, on a small campus. Inside, another office working, female, at a computer, asked me, “What are you doing back so soon?”

I picked up the paper with the address. “We forgot the address. We didn’t know where we were going.”

Leaving with the paper, I became confused. Where did I park? I found my car, a red Porsche. Except, I remembered, I didn’t come in my car. That’s right, I came with the students in the little white car. I’d gotten into Porsche and had moved the car. Looking for a convenient parking space, I pulled it. It was reserved for another, but I thought management would take care of it. When I left the car, I discovered that it was white. That perplexed me for several seconds. I was certain that I’d been in a red car. How could it turn white. Dismissing that, I went into the rain, looking for the other car.

Thursday’s Theme Music

Remembering and reflecting upon dreams whilst I shaved, my brain sang, “Look What They’ve Done to My Song, Ma” by Melanie Safka (1970). Interesting way to start the morning.

Thursday, July 15, 1970, has arrived. Day rise began at 5:48 AM. Night fall will begin with sunset at 8:46 PM. Cooler temperatures are carrying the weather today. Just gonna be 86 degrees F tonight. Feels more like an early autumn day than summer. Air smells fresh although wildfire smoke rims the valley along the peaks and ridges. The Bootleg Fire still rages a hundred miles away, adding to its total of 330 square miles of destruction. Authorities report it’s 7% contained. Full containment isn’t expected until October.

COVID-19 numbers are rising everywhere in the U.S.. Independence Day gatherings coupled with vaccination hesitancy, complacency, people not wearing masks, and the D variant’s growing presence is bringing the virus back in a significant way. Mitigating the virus’s impact remains a stout hurdle for the world.

Musically, I shifted from Melanie to 10cc and “I’m Not In Love” (1975). This wasn’t about love for me, but the thinking, as I washed and thought about plans, “This is a phase I’m going through.” That kicked up the song’s line, “It’s just a silly phase I’m going through. And just because, I call you up, don’t get me wrong, don’t think you got it made.” That led to a chuckle and a worry about my own complacency, although this was about writing complacency. When it’s going well, I can be complacent, which then turns into a setback. Gotta keep pressing.

Stay pos, test neg, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax. Here’s the music. Cheers

The Blemish Dream

Big, building. Warehouse or hanger. Don’t know. Not specified. Lot of other folks. Most are young or middle-aged. I’m young, late twenties. I’m working on a computer. Requires me to press F3 to enter data. I’m doing it, happily. Others are gathering. Most are strangers who introduce themselves to me. Many attractive young women. They take an interest in me.

Something is spilled on my shirt. No problem, I’ll change it. I take that one off to go find another one. A middle-aged woman interrupts me. She’s talking about mentoring me. I’m pleased. Two young women, crushing on me, come and sit by me. They’re very flirtatious. I enjoy the attention. Then, something subtly changes. They suddenly withdraw a little. I don’t know why.

A man my age comes along. He takes me aside. “Dude, you have a large blemish on your back.”

“I do?” I reach back, trying to feel it, twist around, stupidly attempting to see it. “Where is it? What is it?”

“I can show you. Come on.”

We walk. He’s talking as we go, trying to explain what the blemish is and where. I’m thinking, inflamed pimple or black head. He’s telling me, no, it’s not quite like that. Than what is it?

Others intercept us. He’s taken away for a moment but says he’ll be right back. Meanwhile, the mentor woman comes up. “You have a blemish on your back,” she says. “You need to put a shirt on and cover that up. It’s a distraction.”

Okay, but I want to know more about the blemish. “I can show you,” she answers.

We go off together to look. But then we’re separated. I turn around and she’s not there.

I decide that I need to pee. I head for the bathroom. It’s a cluttered place with a guard at the door. A friend is behind me. He tells me that I have a blemish on my back. I should put a shirt on. I answer, yes, I know. Head in to pee.

The ‘bathroom’ doesn’t resemble anything like a bathroom. Completely cluttered with junk. Looking around, I ask, “Where is the toilet?” I really need to pee by now. Finding a drain, I piss into it. Screw it. Like it’ll make a difference in that place.

I leave to go back to entering data. Two more friends approach and mention the blemish on my back, making it a total of five who mentioned it. The mentoring woman gathers us. As everyone goes to her, I slip off and find an oversized black tee-shirt. It’s been in my wardrobe but I’ve worn it. It a souvenir from somewhere, with writing on the front.

The mentoring woman tells the gathering to go to another area. I help lead the way because I understand where she indicated. We’re directed to a corner. I recognize it as the ‘bathroom’ location. That confuses me, but yes, the same guard is within, validating our identity and letting us pass. I’m surprised as anything. We’re going into the bathroom?

But, yes. In the bathroom is a tube with a ladder. We climb it and find ourselves in a dining hall of picnic tables. I find a table and sit. Another young woman comes over and asks if she can sit with me. The other two young woman witness this. They look jealous as the newcomer sits with me. She’s very touchy, patting my hand, my shoulder, letting her hand linger on me. Another woman joins me on my other side and starts flirting with me. I’m amused to be the center of so much attention, and a little uncomfortable.

The dream ends.

Saturday’s Theme Music

Welcome to a new, improved Saturday. Leaner, lighter, lower, stronger, faster, cleaner, more advanced, stays fresher longer, this Saturday is unlike any Saturday you’ve ever experienced. You must try it to believe it. It’s already changed tens of thousands of lives.

“Although I’ve only been awake for about three hours and I have a hangover badgering my brain like a berserk chipmunk, this Saturday has been unbelievable,” says Beverly Beaumont of Texas.

“I don’t think I’d make it to Sunday without this Saturday,” said William Pitt of Pennsylvania.

Duncan Heinz said, “Has to be one of my top seven days of the week.”

Continuing the warm spell again today. Forecasted high of 96 degrees F with a sunrise of 5:41 AM and a sunset coming on at 8:49 PM.

For the first time in recorded history, it is also July 10, 2021. Sip on your coffee and think of that.

Four songs are looping through my mental musical stream this day in history. On top of the list is “Brass in Pocket” by the Pretenders, 1979. Second is “Signs”. Then there’s “Resurrection Shuffle”.

Dreams called out Brass. “Signs” arrived because someone posted “Signs, signs, everywhere signs,” on Twitter yesterday. My pink gray matter summoned the Five Man Electrical Band rendition (1971), followed by the live Tesla version from 1990.

Last, though, came the “Resurrection Shuffle”. Although the lyrics and melody are fresh in the stream, looking up the performer and year was required, delivering the information, Ashton, Gardner & Dyke, 1971. As I never hear that anywhere, I decided this would be today’s tune. Hope you’re familiar with it.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as warranted, and get that vax. Don’t find yourself being mourned because you put off getting the vax for whatever reason. Don’t find yourself mourning others because you got sick and passed it on, and they didn’t survive. Stories of both those flavors are circulating with greater frequency. Get the vax. Here’s the tune. Cheers

Think about nothing now
You're nice and high
You're advocating love
But you don't know why
Now you getting vibrations
All down to your feet
That's the brow beatin'
Heavy leather resurrection beat

h/t Lyrics.com

Friday’s Theme Music

Happy Call of the Horizon Day! Call of the Horizon Day is held every year on July 9. In 2021, we find it on a Friday. Go find the horizon. For me, it’s going outside, onto the street, and looking north. There it is, defined by the beginning of the mountains that define our valley. Call of the Horizon Day is about renewal. It’s a refresher for resolutions and projects, plans and dreams. Look at that horizon and think, who am I? What do I want? Half the year is gone. When I look back on 2021, what do I want to see. Sort of a turn on beginning with the end in mind.

The end of daylight today comes at 8:49 PM. While it’s currently 66 degrees F, we expect a hot 99 high. If you’ve been out since sunrise at 5:43 and felt the sun’s heat thrust in our area, you know it’ll be a hot one. But the sky is free of wildfire smoke (knock on wood). As everything is crisping and vegetation is browning, locals (including this lad) are hoping our wildfire luck continues to hold.

Musically, I’m streaming “Mr Jones” by the Counting Crows, circa 1993. Yes, it’s dream related. Dreams were all about conversations being struck up. I dubbed it the conversation dream.

Stay positive, test negative, wear a mask as needed, and get the vax. Here’s the music. Cheers

Old Computer Dream

I’m at a work station. One those stands with a big tan CRT monitor on top, tower PC, keyboard on sliding tray. Something from the 1990s. Whole thing is just wide enough for the monitor. I’m one of many at such computer work stations. Large room. Wide and tall. I’m in the last row, on the end. Fourth one in line. This gives me space to my right. It’s open there and behind me.

Everyone is doing through thing. It’s a hubbub of clicking, clacking, talking, laughing. I’m doing my thing, reviewing files for a dead friend. The computer files on the screen on red. They fill the screen. When I print things out, the paper and folders are red. I suppose, when I’m wondering about the red while I’m dreaming, that the red is supposed to be symbolic of something. I don’t get it. Urgency? Warning? Don’t know. I’m also wondering why I’m going through folders about a dead guy. He’d been a friend but he died a while ago. My rational side intrudes: it’s your birthday. You’re sixty-five. Dead guy was a year older than you. Never lived to be sixty-five. Collect the dots.

Aha, dots probably collected. My wife is pestering me for specific information. This annoys me. She flits in to demand I look at something, sure that it’s important. I already looked and moved on while she wasn’t there. But she keeps coming back, asking to see specific files that I already read and closed.

Many others are behind me. Two women and a man are among them. The women are attractive. I gather that they’re foreigners. Maybe British and Scottish. They’re friends. I think one is with the guy. He seems American. He comes and goes. I keep catching snatches of the women’s conversation. They’re speaking of going someplace, doing something. I’m familiar with the areas and offer some unrequested advice, which they shun.

“Keep yourself to yourself,” I tell myself, sorting files on the computer. I’m testy with my wife as she comes and asks for information on a specific date and event. Without responding to her verbally, I search for the appropriate document, drilling down through information. She doesn’t realize what I’m doing and hectors me. I snap back with an explanation. She then goes away.

Meanwhile, the British and Scottish women have become friendlier. As if they sensed they rebuffed me and now want my friendship — or something — they step closer. I’m aware that they’re surreptitiously attempting to see what I’m doing. They make a subtle show of patting me on my shoulder, touching my arm.

It all confused and wearied me. I move off the dead man’s files. Why should I be involved with them? I find myself instead working on the files for another who worked for me. Investigating this person makes no more sense than checking the dead man’s files.

I understand it all when I awaken. The sense of dissatisfaction, frustration. The searching in myself for answers about directions and desires.

The Pizza Dream

To start off, I’m at home with Mom, working on some project. She’s young — thirties — I’m young — twenties. Others are present. I’m working on a project. Bustling about (typical Mom style), speaking with others, Mom doesn’t wholly approve. She’s saying I’ve already done too much of that. She doesn’t want any more. I’m laughing her off because I don’t think she understands what I’m doing and doesn’t want to know. I’ve decided I’ll continue in secret and surprise her with the results.

As that’s underway, I’m also given pills to take. These are pale white capsules. Eschewing taking them, I secret them in a drawer. In there, I discover I have a cache of red capsules and blue capsules that I refused to take. It’s quite a collection. I close the drawer before others notice.

I then work on my project. I’m collecting information from the net. I’ve found a great deal that I like. They’re giving me ideas about what to do and how to do it. I collect ideas with enthusiasm, sticking them into the same drawer as the pills, not letting others see.

Food is being served. Pizza! I dislike the pizza being served and mock it. A friend and I go off for a walk. We’re walking through a very busy city, following sidewalks, crossing streets heavy with vehicular traffic, crossing railroad tracks, following traffic-light guidance, talking as we go. My friend is holding a wedge of pizza as we walk and talk. He finally tells me that he’s holding onto it for me. “As you didn’t like the other pizza offered, I thought I’d give you this one to try. It’s very good.”

I’m disinclined to eat more pizza at that point. He keeps on as we’re walking. I finally accept it and take a bite, complaining that it’s cold as I do. The pizza is alright. Nothing I’m not wowed by it, he brings out another piece. “Different pizza,” he says, offering it to me. I’m wondering, “Where are you getting these pizzas?” I’m looking around him, amused, trying to see if there’s a pizza truck or something beside him. He, amused, is evasive, refusing to say, but repeating, “It’s my mission to bring you pizza until you find one you like.”

I’m laughing at that. “What a mission. How’d you get roped into that role?”

“I volunteered,” he replied. “I wanted it.”

We’ve been crossing streets as we speak, careful of the traffic. Now we reach a chain-link fence abutting a white cement sidewalk and stop. The sidewalk looks fresh and new. In fact, that’s the general impression of everything that I see. It’s a bright, sunny day. I’ve been enjoying the walk. We’re both holding a slice of pizza. I take a bite of mine and ask, looking around, “Which direction do we go?”

Dream end.

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