Three Dreams

Seduction, destruction, confusion, and security. Short summaries of sharply remembered dreams where I felt these things.

My first remembered dream from last night’s slumbering had me being seduced. This woman and I were traveling with others. All of us then got in bed together. She turned to me and told me that she wanted to have sex with me and moved her hands along my body. She said, she’d thought about it, and I deserved it. I was eager and ready but, hello, there are other people in the bed. She said that she’d spoken with them and that they’d agreed. As she said that, the other three left the bed. I kissed her and she reciprocated.

Dream censored.

Second in the dream line was about destruction being wrought by an evil baby head.

I found myself in an empty old Victorian style home. Going through the rooms, I discovered a huge black trunk in a room upstairs by a window. I opened it. Line with gray inside, its only contents was a smaller black bag which reminded me of a bowling ball bag. As soon as I opened the bag, a baby’s head floated out. White but mottled, it had no body, a constant leer, and thin hair, and was alive. Dread emanated from it, soaking me. I was immediately dispirited. I quickly found it had master telepathic control of others and telekinesis as it threw boulders with its mind and created slaves of other people. Understanding that it had no good intentions, I managed to get behind it while it wasn’t paying attention and get it into the trunk. Slamming the lid shut, I locked it but realized that I could still hear it in my head. I realized it had been in that other black bag to block its thoughts and powers.

I fled, trying to get distance from the baby head, driving along old and narrow country roads, going up a mountain. I soon found myself lost with a black spirit. The baby’s voice was diminished but I felt its presence. Leaving the car to look around and figure out where I was, I decided that I needed to go back and destroy the baby’s head.

End of dream.

Finally, I had a dream about a wealthy old man. White, he was quite old and thin, and favored a monocle, black silk top hat, and a black walking cane topped with a diamond. Suited in a black suit with morning coat, he wore a white bow tie and traveled about in an all-black ‘car’. This car was essentially several rooms, like a narrow black land yacht with a design out of the 1930s. As said, extremely wealthy, he was in charge of everything, he declared, and he didn’t any changes. Large, serious expression men in black suits provided constant security.

I, a young man, was with him in this cluttered and narrow beast of a car. He’d chosen me to write his biography, so I was there to listen to him tell his life story and give me his wisdom so that I could compile it all. Like him, I was dressed in a white shirt and black suit, but with a black tie. His aide, an older man, was dressed as I was.

I was enjoying myself as others brought me tea and pastries while we drove around the city in the mechanical beast. Observing everyone, distraction set in, and I entertained myself by figuring out how the old man could be abducted, and then created a story concept around it. Pleased, I shared that with the old man.

Well, he was outraged, shouting, “Balderdash, that could never happen.” Then he stormed out of that section and into the car’s rear. I knew that he was upset because I’d pointed out a security vulnerability. The elderly aide chastised me in gentle, polite tones for upsetting the old man, who the aide revered. I explained to the aide how I was right, showing and demonstrating the car’s vulnerability on which I based my story. His expression told me that he knew I was right. He went off to comfort his boss.

Dream end.

Yes, I see how black dominates these dreams, as does power and desire.

The Writing Moment

I finished writing a novel the other day. But — there’s often a but inserted into the writing process, but that’s true about a large quantity of life matters, like, I love you, but — this tastes good, but — we can vote for him, but —

This but was about the ending. The first ending didn’t work so I set it aside and developed number two. Here is the but which you know is coming. Ending number two was dissatisfying. Too transparent and expected. Curses. The ending circulated through my mind as I progressed through the routines of the last few days, and then, ah hah! Yes, I’d gone the wrong direction for the ending. With that realized, I established the essence of a new ending, one which seemed like a natural and yet surprising outcome, and one which validated the novel’s underlying theme.

Now I need to take that from sketchy scenes in my head to words in a chapter. Time to write like crazy, at least one more time.

Nepflooftism

Nepflooftism (floofinition) – Favoritism given to one floof over others.

In use: “Although cats, dogs, and pig shared Shari’s domicile, her nepflooftism kept her Cockatoo a happy bird.”

Thursday’s Wandering Thought

His eyebrows had transmorgified once more. As a youth, he had pleasant eyebrows — two clean, mildly arched lines populated with fine, neat hairs. Later, his eyebrow hairs thickened and a unibrow developed. He didn’t much mind the unibrow because he was often favorably compared to another unibrower, actor Tom Selleck, a flattering comparison. His forties found his unibrow’s center fading. Meanwhile, thicker brows appeared. A wild bramble of hairs took over. Suddenly the comparisons shifted from Selleck to the Soviet leader, Brezhnev, or television commentator Andy Rooney.

Those brows faded and changed, too. Now his brows had taken on another actor’s look, developing a Sam Waterston flip, where the eyebrows darkened and thickened again, but pointed up.

Like his eyebrows had their own life and pursued their own style. He wondered what they were going to do next.

Thursday’s Theme Music

“Out in the fog, the fog dancers begin moving. They only appear when it’s foggy. The thicker the fog, the more fog dancers there will be. They want humans to come out, walking in the fog, so the fog dancers can grab them and make them one of their own. If you become a fog dancer, you’ll dance for the rest of your life and never see sunlight again.

“That’s why I don’t go out in the fog.”

I don’t remember this, as I apparently did it on a whim, but my sisters insist that I told them this story when I was about twelve. My three youngest sisters said the fog terrified them for years. They said that I also said that adults know about this and that’s why they don’t go out into the fog. It worked well because Mom would always say, “Oh, I don’t like the fog,” and shiver whenever she looked out and saw fog.

As I said, the sisters claim that I told them this, and I don’t doubt them. Sounds like me. I think of it today because pretty deep fog is out there. Some trees and bushes look like fog dancers.

Remember the movie, The Fog? The sisters said that as soon as they heard of that movie, they remembered my tale.

It’s December 22, 2022. Just three days before the C holiday. And then, boom, the after Christmas shopping rush begins. It’s nutty.

36 F out there today, with timid sunshine squirming through the fog. S’posed to rain today. That’s the weather rumor. 49 F is to be our high before the sun peters out of the valley at 4:42 later today, just seven hours and five minutes after the sun kicked over the eastern mountains.

Got “Rockafeller Skank” by Fatboy Slim from 1988 occupies the morning mental music stream. I know exactly when The Neurons turned it on this morning. I’d raised the blinds, looked out and saw the fog. The Neurons responded to this by opening, “Right about now, the funk soul brother, check it out now, the funk soul brother.” Fog and funk. Sure, makes sense. I think The Neurons are losing it on some days, but I enjoy the song. Not many lyrics and easy to learn. I had a friend a few years after this song was released who always insisted, “That’s not really music.”

Stay positive and test negative.

Another DIY Project

I noticed that the air blowing out of our furnace vents seems weak this year. Something needed to be done. Shouting, “To the net,” I did some research. The first thing I did was change the filter, which helped — that rascal was filthy. I then set a calendar reminder to check and change it every three months. Then I visited the crime scene for clues.

Our furnace is a Tempstar L9 unit horizontally mounted in the attic above the garage. I’ve been up there to deal with problems before so I’m comfortably familiar with it. It’s our original unit, so it’s almost sixteen years old. I’m embarrassed to admit, the blower hasn’t been cleaned since the capacitor failed ten years ago. I decided to do two things, based on research: clean the blower and increase its speed.

Both were easy, with the second part being easiest. The heating and cooling systems use the same blower and ducts (yeah, duh). But the wiring on my system can only specify that one of them has the higher blower setting, and that is the A/C. So I switched it so the heating has that setting for the winter. Before I started messing with the wires, I perused the manual’s wiring table and instructions and then photographed the original wire placement with my phone. I’ve learned to do that last anytime I’m dealing with switches and wires. It’s saved my butt a few times.

Now it’s all much improved. I’m once again grateful to the net and its helpful videos. Finishing, I set another calendar reminder for the summer, so I can go back up in there and switch over the wires for the air conditioning. Have a good one. Cheers

The Writing Math

I finished writing a novel today. It’s the first draft, so work will be required, but after that, you’ll be able to find it in a bookstore, library, computer, or in someone’s hand, pending editing, finding an agent or publisher, or self-publishing, and time.

It was fun work. Rewarding. I’m one of those pantsers, so I write a lot to learn a little. In my case, I wrote 200,000 words. I’ve already identified ten chapters for removal. See, besides being a pantser, I’m a wanderer as I write, rewriting, polishing, and editing as I explore the story. Still, more editing is needed for continuity, pacing, all those pesky grammar elements, and all the things that create a better novel.

Its total word count did surprise me. I knew it was a big book as I wrote it — come on, I’m in the forest, but I know how deep in the woods I am and can see all those trees around me. I was more surprised because I only actually put ass in seat in front of keyboard about two to two and a half hours per day. I started this thing about seven months ago, and time was taken off. for family emergencies, vacations, social obligations, and spousal duties. But seeing that final number prodded me to rush to a spreadsheet and do the numbers.

You can see, I didn’t write many words per day or hour. It’s amazing how much it adds up. Perseverance and persistence counts.

Now I need to pause, celebrate a little, and then begin executing the next phase. Cheers

Wednesday’s Wandering Thought

He always defends what he says by proclaiming that he’s just giving ‘the unvarnished truth’. But when others deliver the unvarnished truth to him, his defensiveness spikes to Mt. Everest levels.

Not a great surprise, as he lives in a very varnished bubble.

Tuesday’s Wandering Thought

The differences between them are growing after almost half of a century being together.

The Jack Spratt nursery rhyme goes, “Jack Spratt could eat no fat. His wife could eat no lean. And so between the two of them, they licked the platter clean.”

It feels to him like they’re living in a modern version of that, with heat substituted for food. She needs the high heat. He’s fine barefoot and in a light sweater, the heat at 66 F. They put the heater on for her even as she dons more and more layers of clothes, and he strips down.

It’s like, “Mike S doesn’t feel the cold, his wife could feel no heating. And so between the two of them, he sweats as she is freezing.”

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