Category: Information

Jab Boost – Day 2

My wife and I received a Moderna COVID-19 vaccine booster shot on Tuesday. It little affected us that day.

Day 2 was different.

It’s nice to have retrospect. We were both experiencing pain and stiffness in our shot arms (left for both) by the end of day 1. Both of us were heavily hydrating but I was constantly drying out. By day 2, I noticed a drop in energy level, dry and burning eyes — seriously, I kept splashing my face and added drops to my eyes twice — and diminished concentration. Writing, where I’m juggling twenty sharp objects in my brain, was a flawed and troubled endeavor. She, though, had it worse. Her energy level went off a cliff and nausea rolled up on her. She took several baths to address a general assortment of aches and napped for almost five hours in late afternoon. Her appetite was done, although taste and smell weren’t affected.

My energy levels have jumped back up today, though I did spend an extra hour in bed this morning. The jab site remains stiff and sore but I’ve applied a topical CBD cream to it, which helps tremendously. My wife remained in bed longer. She reports her eyes are tired but she feels a lot better.

So, small matters for us. Nothing significant, and certainly worth enduring if the vaccine and boost reduces our chances of being severely impacted by COVID-19. Must say, though, watching Dopesick on Hulu did little for our moods. Born in the fifties, we remember different corporations being exposed for lying to protect profits and image throughout our lifetimes, like Ford, the Pinto, and exploding gas tanks. We also recall times when government malfeasance, through individuals betraying their public trust to enrich their situations, was exposed. Remember how doctors were paid to say that cigarette smoking wasn’t bad for you? Ha, ha, what kidders! Do you remember Enron? What about Love Canal? Should we discuss the Dupont C8 scandal? Other scandals involving real estate and financial markets of more recent memory rise through my consciousness when we talk about companies lying and government oversight failures.

So here comes Dopesick. Based on Beth Macy’s nonfiction book about the opioid crises in the U.S. with sharp focus on the Sackler family and Purdue Pharma, the limited series shows how an FDA cog manipulated a warning label that claimed Oxycontin was non-addictive, and then the battles by doctors, patients, families, communities, and the DEA to get the FDA to admit they fucked up and find accountability for Purdue and the Sacklers. Well, the Sacklers escaped prosecution and stepped away with tens of billions of dollars from the swath of death and destruction they spearheaded. The company went bankrupt and no longer exists. They’re paying out billions to states to help deal with the opioid crises but it’s a shitshow.

So, I do understand why some people are skeptical of the vaccine, FDA, and the corporations behind it. There’s been sufficient lying and failures for many to wonder.

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Floofmate

Floofmate (floofinition) – 1. Animal or human’s position during an interaction which stops the other from moving.

In use: “The cat employed love eyes, a loud purr, and air biscuits to pin Rosie to her chair (with him on her lap) and gain floofmate.”

2. Animal or person who is a companion to another animal, or an animal who accompanies a person.

In use: “Scooby the little Yorkie and Loki, the big black cat, were constant floofmates, not just to one another, but to Beda, helping her in every aspect of her life at home, always there, no matter what was going on, unless it involved the vacuum cleaner.”

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The Boost Jab

My wife and I received our boost jab yesterday.

We’d been trying to get it since approval came out. As J&J was our initial shot, we desired a Moderna booster. CDC and studies showed that improved our level of protection. Finding the Moderna booster was easy; making an appointment was more challenging. While several sites claimed they could do what we needed, their actual processes failed to meet the promise. Calling was like chasing snowflakes in a storm. We did call 211 to see what the state could suggest. They couldn’t hook us up either. Exasperating.

Then, we read on NextDoor that the Presbyterian Church was giving the boosters. They included the phone number. I immediately called and we were slotted in. The program isn’t being done by the church, but by Wellness 2000, a corporation contracted by the state. The church, less than a mile from our house, was the venue. This church is always doing great things for the community, from helping to feed the homeless, to opening their doors during the winter to provide them a safe and warm place to sleep, to opening their church in the summer, when the smoke is a health threat. I’m not a member of their congregation, but I applaud their approach to community.

My appointment was for 12:05 PM yesterday. My wife’s was five minutes later. I arrived at 12:01 and was immediately greeted by two women at a table. They processed me, updated the paperwork, then bade me sit until called. 12:03, I was called. 12:03, I was done. Impressive organization and efficiency.

The shot, given by Beth, an RN, was so quick, it left little impression that I’d been jabbed. After waiting fifteen minutes to confirm I didn’t have a severe reaction, I waited five more minutes for my wife, and we were finished.

Twenty-one hours later, I feel great. The injection site aches. My arm complains about being raised above shoulder level. That’s all I feel.

My wife feels the arm issue, but she’s also complaining of nausea and mild congestion. She does suffer an underlying condition, RA. I hope she recovers quickly and easily. Fingers crossed. Meanwhile, I feel fortunate to have gone through this so painlessly. Hope others have an experience like mine.

Cheers

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The Prophecies Dream

I was invited to participate in a picnic with a number of families. It wasn’t a large gathering, perhaps thirty people. Adults and children, both sexes, very casual, being conducted at a tall apartment building where the all lived. I was invited specifically to answer questions about prophecies. In the dream, I thought nothing of it and felt quite prepared to answer questions and explain prophecies.

First, though, we ate. Mountains of food – BBQ chicken and ribs, salads including potato salad, corn on the cob, burgers and hot dogs, along with plenty to drink. The food was great and I ate my share, though I was warned to save room for dessert. A presentation by a couple people followed. Then, I was asked to explain why what they’d prophesized in the presentation was wrong. Before I could speak, though, dessert was called for. Everyone walked and milled about, finding themselves a piece of pie or cake. Several men approached me and asked if they could quiz me on some other prophecies because they’d heard me speak before. Sure, no problem, I said. But before that could take place, they were interrupted by their children and the little meeting broke up.

I waited to answer questions but everyone went down to play whiffle ball in the backyard. Adults and children were playing. It was a crowded, narrow green field with a white split rail fence to one side. They talked me into playing. The rule is, you were at bat until you hit the ball into the field of play. I was first up and hit the first pitch, a long line drive that only managed to be a single. Getting to first base, I laid down while the next person took his swings. He finally got a hit but I wasn’t paying attention by then. I finally managed to leap up to run but instead said, “Know what? This just proves that I shouldn’t be playing. I’m sorry.” I walked off then, going back upstairs.

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The Command Complex Dream

I arrived at a command complex. Although ultra futuristic in appearance, full of technology, it was no longer used. I wasn’t associated with it or the military but was familiar with it because of my past, and found it a friendly space. There were no windows and only one door, standard for such places, which were like vaults. Dark blue dominated, with matching carpet and walls. The console positions were all flat black glass with touch screens. As I went about exploring, others entered. I realized that they, like me, were past military. None of us were in the service any longer. We all chatted and introduced ourselves.

We realized some event was taking place. Console positions were powering up on their own, displaying incoming threat analysis. Despite this, we were all in high-spirits. Many people sat at console positions, taking the problem on. As I examined the consoles, I noticed that lines of red and yellow lights circled the positions and were growing brighter. Somehow, I recognized this as a trap. Warning the others, I told them to back off the consoles because something was about to happen. After they all drew back a few feet, the positions opened and emitted spurts of gas. If they’d been where they were, they would have been affected, so my warning saved them. All were grateful.

Things wound down. I got on my hands and knees, checking something out. As I was, I looked up to see a tall, white man enter. I knew he was retired four-star general. He paused as he reached me. I realized I was impeding his way and discovered my legs and feet were somehow under the carpet. As I apologized and laughed, wondering how I’d managed that, he brushed it off as inconsequential and went past. I stood and joined him. We chatted about trivialities and the shook hands and he left.

Others had come in again. One was a black female. I joined her at a table but then was called over by two other women. They were over at a display and had discovered a curtain. It had SLIDELL sewn on in in yellow thread. They asked if that was me. I said that it could be because one, sometimes people used that as a variation of my name, and two, such a misspelling sometimes showed up on correspondence. But, I said, I thought it was doubtful because we were at Bitburg AB in Hahn, Germany, and I’d only been there twice.

I returned to the table in the back and chatted with the seated black woman, sitting beside her as I did. I knew her and we exchanged information about what had been going on in our lives since we’d last seen one another. Others then came in and sat down opposite her. I realized after a moment that people were arriving to pay her homage. I thought it inappropriate to be sitting with her because that was a position of honor and she was the one being honored, but she told me to stay beside her. I did as person after person arrived to tell her how great it had been working with her.

Dream fade out.

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Floofcial

Floofcial (floofinition) – 1. Involving or relating to animal activities in which people spend time talking to animals, doing enjoyable things with animals, or sponsoring events which benefit animals.

In use: “A cat floofcial was happening in the backyard, with the three resident cats in their customary places being visited by three neighbor cats sitting on the fences, stopping by to say hello and chew the kibble, so to speak.”

2. Experience of an animal cleaning a human face with its tongue.

“Whenever she got home, her dog had to conduct a thorough floofcial, as if he was cleansing her of the outside world.”

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Floofs Alone

Floof Alone (floofinition) – Comedy film about animals’ floofnanigans when they’re behind at home during a holiday and thwart criminals’ attempts to break into the house.

In use: “One of the highlights in Floofs Alone is the sequence when the burglars are kept from entering the house because of traps set by the home’s cats, dog, and bird through clever use of their toys, litter box, aided by the bird’s ability to mimic noises such as police sirens and guns firing, a skill acquired by observing the children’s video games.”

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The Festival Dream

I went to a bank, a modern building, small, almost empty. While there, I heard rumors of something else being behind the bank. I decided to investigate. After following a hallway briefly, I entered a large chamber. All of it was a very light gray stone, stone the color of pale, thin fog. The chamber is broad and tall, with an uneven but flat floor. Centerpiece to it is a giant square head carved from the rock. Trying to take it in has me craning my head back and shifting position. Three columns are hewn into the rock on either side of it. A sense of time thousands of years past washes out from it.

I’m turning toward the right. I can see that the broad chamber continues that way. I’ve decided to follow it but as I’m walking, I grow away that the chamber reverberates. I stop to feel it. It’s not a heartbeat. At once softer and more powerful, it flows through the rock and me. Feeling it, I become lifted by a glorious spiritual mood. The chamber grows brighter and whiter.

Next, I’m walking on a paved path through countryside. I’m among many people. My wife is with me, along with families with children. A large percentage of the children are riding little carts that they stood up in and propel along with their foot. Everyone is laughing and merry. We’re on our way to a festival. Conversations are struck up. We enjoy the company of two other couples for a while. They’ve just bought new homes and moved into them. I’m surprised to learn that they moved into my old neighborhood in Penn Hills, PA. I learn that one couple are now living in the house that my aunt’s family lived in up the street at 314 Laurie Drive. I wonder if anyone has moved into my old house and start asking questions.

We stop at a cafe. Adjacent to the sidewalk, it’s open on every side except the back. The cafe is light, airy, white and yellow decor. We sit in the back right corner. Drinks are ordered. We’re chatting with others. Everyone is so friendly and happy. Elderly people in black are passing on the sidewalk. One slips and falls. We all shout and leap up to help her. Five or six others fall. We realize that they’re playing a joke on us as sly grins spread across their faces. We all have a good laugh.

A little blonde girl sits beside me. She tells me she’s moved. She says she lives at 314 Laurie Drive. I turn to one of the men and he acknowledges, yes, that’s his daughter.

Then we’re walking again, resuming the way to the festival. My wife and I reach a hill. We can see a new housing plan below. The houses are all pastels. Many are turquoise and pink. Some are yellow and pink. They have round, green yards. Most have one or two doghouses in their yards. The doghouses are always in the same color as the people’s house. I ask my wife if we should buy one of those houses. She laughs and answers, “Those aren’t for us.” I nod in agreement because I feel the same. They’re too contrived and conform to some code that’s alien to us. We turn and move on.

An uplifting sequence of dreams all the way around.

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