- The more that I’m writing, the worst that I sleep. I dream more when I’m writing more, too. Yesterday produced a great writing session, a miserable night of sleep, and a flotilla of dreams.
- I think that I sleep worst when I’m writing more because more of my brain is engaged in the writing process. The writing is consuming more bandwidth; shutting it down at day’s end is problematic. I keep writing while I’m doing other things, including trying to sleep.
- The good news with the novel in progress is that the characters escaped Arsehold at last! How surprised me, but was totally in tone with the rest of the book. This is, of course, when writing is most fun and rewarding.
- I always worry about saying too much about writing these days. I don’t want to jinx it when it’s going well, you know? Don’t want to scare off or anger the muses. I never elaborate to others about what I’m writing any more. It’s a novel; it’s meant to be read. I don’t want to explain it; I want people to read it. Sometimes it’s hard to stay true to this as excitement about the story, characters, and concept bubble up and make me happy. I guess I’m an eternal optimist that these stories and novels will come to be in people’s hands someday. Really, though, I write for me and have a good time doing it.
- I’m subscribed to HBOMax and enjoying several shows. Nevertheless, I have a complaint about the service. Every time I select it, the first thing that comes up is, “Who is watching?” My name is right there on top. It’s the only name. Below it are options to add other profiles or to add a kid. Seriously? Why must I answer this every friggin’ time? Just accept, I am the one watching, and get on with it. If I want to add someone else, I can go into options or the account, you know. It shouldn’t, I suppose, but it irks me to no end.
- COVID-19 vaccinations are increasing among friends and family. I know ten people who have been vaccinated. Three different states – Oregon, Texas, and Pennsylvania – are involved. All who were vaccinated except one were seventy plus years old. The one exception is in her forties and is in the healthcare industry, although she’s in research. Both vaccines have been employed among this small sampling. None have reported significant adverse reactions beyond a desire to nap and mild fevers. Let me know how your vaccination goes, please.
- My wife and I are a year apart in age, which adds another spin to our vaxsit. I’m sixty-four and a half. I turn sixty-five in July. I’ll be eligible. But do we want to do it if we can’t do it at the same time? Part of our formula about whether and when is that I have hypertension and she has RA. I suspect that we’ll be included as part of a group that’s fifty years and older later this year, making our one year difference moot.
- I mentioned oatmeal in another post, and the huntress commented on oatmeal. Her mother made it very thin. Soupy thin. I think of that as gruel. Yeah, I know it’s not the same. While that’s how my wife eats it, I’m not a fan of it. I make my oat meal so thick, it’s almost a soft cookie.
- I grew up putting brown sugar in my oatmeal. Well, it started as white sugar but once I had it with brown sugar, the game was done. I then learned to add raisins and nuts. Now I put all manner of things in my oatmeal. I currently add cranberries and walnuts in my oatmeal, and granola as a topping. I like the contrasting crunchiness and flavor.
- When I was first served oatmeal at my wife’s house while in my teens, they surprised me by adding butter and bacon on top. I’d never heard of such a thing! That surprised them, because that’s how they always ate it. Adding bacon and butter to my oatmeal wasn’t something that I adopted. My wife doesn’t add it to her oatmeal, either.
- The world seems weirdly calmer with Joe Biden in office as President. Is this my imagination? Am I just reading less news? That doesn’t seem to be the case. Have news outlets shifted how they’ve reported? Perhaps. Or is it that there’s less bad news, or it’s being less reported, or not catching my eye… Maybe we’re just in an intermission in the bad news cycle.
- Or maybe it’s some sense of numbing of normalization to bad news. Locally — specifically, in Jackson County, Oregon — COVID-19 positive cases have been declining. We haven’t had triple digits in several days. We’re trending down, but we trended down in November. Then we had a Christmas spike. Meanwhile, people aged 20-29 are the most positive cases here, but those aged fifty and older dominate the hospital beds, inline with what’s been seen elsewhere, and what’s generally expected.
- Okay, got my coffee, actually my second cup. No mid-morning treat to go with it. No cookies, pastries, or doughnuts. Nevertheless, time to write like crazy, at least one more time.
Thursday’s Theme Music
Sunrise came at 7:34 in Ashland on this twenty-first day of 2021, 01/21/21, and sunset, if the machinery works right will come at 5:11 PM. While it’s 37 F now, a high of 53 is expected. It’s a cloudy sky, which usually accompanies warmer temperatures at this time of year. It’s when the sky is clearest that it becomes coldest.
I enjoyed the musical entertainment provided the nation during President Biden’s inauguration celebrations. Several stood out for me, but I especially soaked in John Legend singing “Feeling Good”. Pow. Knocked me into the next year.
Demi Lovato covering Bill Withers’ “Lovely Day” was another performance that touched me. Bill Withers was from my area. I lived outside of Beckley, WV, for three years, graduating there, and Bill was raised there, so he’s our native son. Covers of his songs always stirs memories of him and that area and time.
What of you? Any particular song or performance touch you in a way?
The inauguration day’s celebration theme was pretty much new day, new times, right? That’s what I took. Maybe I missed the mark. I’m thinking, how do you top any of those songs as theme music.
Well, today, I don’t. I’m just listening to John Legend “Feeling Good”. I’m familiar with the Nina Simone 1965 cover, but I’m staying with John Legend’s powerful rendition.
It’s a new dawn
It’s a new day
It’s a new life for me, yeah
It’s a new dawn
It’s a new day
It’s a new life for me, ooh
And I’m feeling good
h/t to Genius lyrics.com
Hey, stay positive. Test negative. Wear a mask and get the vaccine. A new day is coming. A new day has arrived. Feel it?
The Shirt Dream
I’d arrived at an airport wearing a blue Oxford shirt and carrying a briefcase. I was pleased with that shirt; I liked it. I thought the color suited me and I liked my image.
The airport was just a counter and a waiting room with a few chairs. Timing was good as the flight was due to depart shortly. I checked in and sat down to wait. Friends came by, looking for car parts. I tried helping them by telling them where they could find parts. Some part of the conversation prompted me to warn them not to steal my car parts while I was gone. I was only going for one night and would be returning the next day so that little worried me, just an up and back, but I was pleased to be going, looking forward to it.
Then I thought, wait, what am I going to wear tomorrow? I can wear the same jeans and shoes, but I want fresh underwear, a shirt, and socks. Yes, I decided with some further thought, I do. It was twenty minutes until the flight was departing. Fortunately, I lived next door. I hurried over to find the needed clothes. Underwear and socks were immediately found and stuck in the briefcase, but I couldn’t find a shirt. Where were my shirts? They weren’t in the closet, nor my drawers. No shirts were there.
I went to find my wife. “Where are all my shirts?”
She was disinterested. “Did you look in your closet?”
“Yes. Here.” I took her to my closet and showed her. There was clothing but not my shirts.
She looked. “What am I looking at?”
“None of my shirts are in there.” I showed her my drawers. Clothing was in there but not my shirts. “Where are my shirts? Do you put them somewhere else?”
“What shirts do you mean?”
“Any shirt. Do you see any shirts? Where are my dress shirts? Where are my polo shirts? I don’t even have any tee shirts.”
“Why do you want one? What’s wrong with the shirt you have on?”
“I’m flying out. I need a new shirt for tomorrow.” I checked my watch; it was departure time.
I rushed back to the airport next door. The clock on the wall said 9:15. I thought, that can’t be right. If that’s right, the flight hasn’t left. Would they have left without me?
That’s where the dream ended.
I came away from it thinking, don’t get lost worrying about little details. Keep the important issues in mind.
A Freaky Dream
This was a freaky dream, and a dark place — no sky, little light, quite dim. No wind; no sound; just me and an unseen other, who seemed above and behind me.
People were returning. I could see the inside of their heads, but it wasn’t anything graphic. Their heads were empty. What I saw was a stylized version of their skull, minus blood, nerves, brains, muscles, etc.
What I did see in their skulls was an outline. The outline was variously labeled or called, the part of their soul that they wanted to contribute, and the part of them that was searching for forgiveness.
Waves of heads following heads, eyeless, faceless, without bodies but with identities, passed me. At first, briefly, it was all very WTF for me as I looked at people — well, their heads, without their bodies, and without faces — and identified them. They weren’t people I knew, but I immediately and effortlessly identified them. An unseen mentor present helped me put it together as I, smiling and whole (the only one like that in the entire dream) said, “Oh, I see. They’re coming with offerings.” Then I had the hang of it. Identifying those outlined sections, I would estimate and declare, “She’s sharing nine percent of her soul for the effort. He’s giving five percent. This one wants to give it all — is that acceptable?” She was sent elsewhere. Apparently part of a greater effort, I was identifying them so others could collect their soul offerings.
Throwing me off at one point was that some seemed slightly different. After some mental sorting, I discovered, “Oh, she’s not offering any of her soul. She’s asking for forgiveness. But she only wants to be forty-five percent forgiven for what she’s done.” They were rarer. As these were encountered, there was sometimes communications with those people. Some of them apparently had lost their souls. They were directed to somewhere else, by the unseen other; that was not my business.
Despite the dream’s darkness and what seems like a weird subject, I stayed upbeat throughout the dream. I shiver a bit, remembering it, though.
But this dream is why the song, “Psychobabble” by The Alan Parsons Project, ruled my mind this morning.
Monday’s Meatballs
- My wife is feeling guilty. I’m a Pittsburgh Steelers fan. Because I live in Oregon now, I’ve also adopted the Seattle Seahawks to watch. That’s mostly because their games are frequently broadcast in the area (wonder why…). Anyway, back when Russ was cooking and the Steelers were 11-0, my wife started cheering for the two teams. Everything went downhill from there… She blames herself. Doesn’t help that she’s also a Patrick Mahomes fan. She was cheering for him. Then yesterday, during the playoffs, he hits the ground and is concussed and out. Yes, she blames herself. Says its bad luck for her to cheer for any team or person. Hmmm…maybe she should stop rooting for me to get published…
- Got a message from a FB friend. I didn’t know the name. Message just said, “Hi.” I thought, bull; you’re not my friend. I checked their FB page. Nothing there, you know, except a photo who I think is Paul Hollywood from a few years ago.
- We’ve been receiving spates of calls from our area code. They’re numbers that we don’t recognize. From years of conditioning, we don’t answer the phone unless we know the number. Going further, I’ve assigned family members specific ringtones so I know it’s them when the phone rings. When we check out these numbers doing reverse look up, they often turn out to be foreign numbers. They seem to be linked to a new scam going around.
- It seems like there’s a new scam on the phone, net, or in politics every week.
- Speaking of politics, I’m not going to write about it. I’m weary of this mess that’s arisen in the U.S. with normal people believing outlandish things. Then there’s the things that outlandish people believe. They really stretch sanity’s perimeters. I think such people are searching for a force to give their lives meaning. I do the same with my writing (and posting). It’s a structure for my existence; I wouldn’t be surprised if their deep hold on crazy ideas and its supporting community (or tribe) isn’t the same for them.
- This week’s soup is again the root soup — roasted broccoli, carrots, potatoes, and garlic put into a mushroom broth and simmered with seasoning. Awesome for winter. Just add good bread.
- We picked up some VitaCup infused coffee on sale during a ninja shopping venture last week. We’re both surprised how good this turmeric and cinnamon coffee concoction is. It’s become our go-to choice. That’s especially startling for me; I’ve always been a French or Italian roast sort of person, dark with no sugar, cream, milk, etc. I will acknowledge that I was/am a mocha drinker. When I did them, it was four shots of espresso, then add a little chocolate, and steamed milk. Quit doing those; bad for my prostate.
- Still averaging twelve miles per day walking, according to Fitbit. I’m dubious.
- Over in streamland, we’re enjoying “Snowpiercer” (the series) and “Doom Patrol”. Both are on HBO Max. I especially like “Snowpiercer” as it fleshes out things in better ways than the movie did. I’m a train fan, and this idea appeals to my sci-fi infused imagination.
- On WordPress, it always bugs me that when Post comes up on the right, there is a red button that says, “Move to trash”. It’s like they’re making a suggestion about what I’m writing to post, you know?
- I’m also watching “The Wire” again. Been years since I’ve seen it but the characters (and actors), storylines, and plots (and twists) all remain clear in memory. I still enjoy it because it has great values and terrific acting. The characters all have sharp human edges and avoid being stereotypes (although McNulty is pretty close to one as a functioning alcoholic who cares), and we care about them all, good people and bad.
- Got my coffee (yes, it’s the infused stuff). Time to write like crazy, at least one more time. Almost ready for the characters to put Arsehold into the rearview mirror. Fingers crossed, you know?
Sitcom Dreams
On Wednesday, I mentioned a couple of my recent dreams to my wife. She shook her head; “You’re on another plan with those dreams. I have no idea what’s going on.”
Yeah, I often have that feeling about my dreams, but many of them reassure and inspire me. Not so the dreams of Wednesday and Thursday nights. Of the silly variety, I call them my sitcom dreams. Along with what I call my ‘episodic adventure dreams’, the sitcom dreams happen regularly. There’s always a string of them. Although they amuse me, I rarely post about them.
For example, one dream last night had me attempting to feed two cats. The cats in question were Jade and Quinn. Quinn died two years ago after being with us for twelve years. Jade came to us on Okinawa and was with us for twenty-one years. Both were sweethearts, although Jade was furiously intelligent and willful.
In the dream, I was trying to feed these two in my backyard. I had a food bowl set up for them but they were crowding me, giving me the impression they were hungry. Naturally, I talked to them about it.
“Why are you asking me for food. There’s plenty of food in your bowl. Come on, I’ll” I led through the yard’s lush green grass back to their food bowl. “See?” I pointed. They hurried to their food bowl, sniffing, then turned to me in question. Puzzled, I went to the food bowl. Closer to it, I discovered that what I thought was cat kibble was sandwich wedges. Checking them out with surprise, I discovered they were stale.
“Sorry,” I told the cats. “Let me clean this up and then I’ll give you real food.”
As I was cleaning, putting the stale sandwiches to one side, a man and his family — neighbors — passed by, watching me as they went. I heard the father say to the rest, “He is burying the cats’ feces.” I smiled when I heard him but didn’t clarify what was going on.
That’s where that one ended. See what I mean? There were six or seven of these sort of dreams, about cars, technology, cats, and houses. While I take humor from them, I do acquire some deeper insights about myself from the sitcom dreams. I might be rationalizing what happens but I like it. Still, I’m looking forward to a return my normal dream programming.
I can always use reassuring.
Friday’s Theme Music
Todays sunrise in Ashland, OR, was 7:40 AM. Sunset is 5:04 PM. A light gray overcast sky keeps the sunshine at bay. The temperature is 42 degrees F but a high of 56 is projected, along with light rain.
Today’s theme music is “Animal I Have Become” by Three Days Grace, 2006. I chose the music on behalf of the United States and the nation that it’s become. Torn by division, rhetoric and activity turns more violent and urgent. As blacks have been killed by police, people took to the streets to protest the deaths. Many of them were senseless, but officers were exonerated. Several particularly infuriating people, like Breonna Taylor, unarmed, in bed, innocent of everything but being black, killed by police in their zest to ‘serve and protect’. There was also George Floyd, killed by an officer who was busy serving and protecting, by kneeling on his neck until he died while his fellow officers, serving and protecting, looked on. This was apparently for a report of a crime of passing a counterfeit twenty dollar bill. Numbingly, those are just two examples that fueled the anger and protests that swept the nation on behalf of justice in 2020.
Meanwhile, on the right, they got busy protesting those protests, screaming in response, “Blue Lives Matter”. That blue lives really didn’t matter to them became apparent (as if we weren’t sure) as Trump supporters, who are quite right wing, conservative, and white supremacists, battled with the police in support of a coup attempt, beating many police officers, killing one. On the right, they believe that the 2020 election was stolen by ‘the left’. They think that there was all sorts of fraud, uncounted ballots, and thrice counted ballots that helped propel Biden to his landslide (in Trump’s words, as Biden won the EC by the same number as Trump did in 2016). Trump himself, and GOP cohorts, continue feeding this lie. They insist that evidence exists.
This evidence has never been shown.
On the right, they claim the evidence will be shown, and we’ll all change our tune. What’s keeping them from showing this evidence anywhere is the response given by the rest of us.
One note that has everyone (outside of the people who believe that the 2020 election as stolen) shaking their heads, is why would this all-powerful election-stealing apparatus only steal the presidential election? Why would they not steal the Senate and House? Why wouldn’t they also steal the state elections? They use the same ballots. Apparently, though, while the right believes this election-stealing apparatus is all-powerful, it’s not powerful enough to steal those elections. Yeah, SMFH.
With Trump impeached again, Trump unwilling to concede, little change to police policies and practices, and FBI reports that the right have violent plans to change the results of the 2020 election, “Animal I Have Become”, a song about a man struggling with drug addiction, seems right.
On a WordPress note, they appeared to have fixed some issues, in my experience. The site published properly yesterday. Of course, today when I went to post, I couldn’t bring up a page. Took three tries, and the whole ‘post/block’ sidebar had vanished and needed to be called up.
Stay positive, test negative, moderate your drinking, and wear pants (and a mask) when appropriate. Cheers
Fresh WP Madness
Don’t know what’s going on in WordPress world this week. There’s probably a blog post somewhere explaining some shit. Not interested in chasing it down.
On my side, I’m not having ‘issues’, per se; WP is just up to a different level of annoying. Whenever I publish a blog, it doesn’t announce that it’s published; instead it comes up and presents the ‘Update’ button in the upper right hand corner. When I then leave that post after publishing it, WP asks, “Leave site? Changes you made might not be saved.”
That leaves me asking, “Changes? WHAT CHANGES? I just published the friggin’ thing.”
Anyone else seeing any of this? Or am I alone in the madness?
New Case of Amazonitis
Amazonitis struck again. Packages were supposed to arrive by Sunday. When such didn’t happen, I checked the calendar (yes, yesterday was Sunday and today is Monday) and the front porch (nope, no package — but was it stolen?) and then went to Amazon. After clicking on Orders and Track Package, I was given this message:
Now expected January 11 – January 12
We’re very sorry your delivery is late. Most late packages arrive in a day. If you have not received your package by tomorrow, you can come back here the next day for a refund.
Well, where was it, then? When I checked on Saturday, they assured me it was ‘on the way’. I clicked on a link for more shipping details.
Wow. I was impressed! That package worked hard on Friday, making tremendous progress from Vancouver to Portland, rushing between Amazon facilities and carrier facilities. Where’d it go after that?
Who knows? If only there was some capacity to track these things, some system whereby the packages are provided a number, and then under that system, let’s call it a tracking system, where its progress is followed, with details provided to the expectant customer about when it’ll arrive.
Fortunately for me, in this issue, it’s again not at all crucial. It’s more of a minor annoyance. I put the annoyance factor below the football team that I root for (we’ll not speak their name) getting bounced from the playoffs. It’s not like the package is carrying critical medicine, desperately needed food, or almost as importantly, coffee.
This is more of a first-world whine about setting expectations and having those expectations dashed. (Well, ‘dashed’ is a little strong. Let’s say, ‘failed’.) Yes, I’m aware of COVID-19. I’m aware many people are at risk out there for this stupid little package. I’m grateful to those people. I’m just having a little pre-coffee Monday morning fun, venting. It’s not like I have places to go.
It’s not like I’m a package.
Three Mini-Dreams
The dreams had variety tonight. The essence of each:
- In a paddleboat on smooth water, circling a larger boat.
- Turned on by a gorgeous young naked woman.
- Tracking and registering the results of clinical vaccine trials.
The paddleboat one was shortest. It was also funny to me; I’d dreamed the other night that I was battling muddy water, a not-infrequent dream experience for me, but didn’t have any sort of water conveyance. Alone, I was in one of those little boats that you propel by cycling, as if you’re on a bicycle. Instead of turning wheels on ground, paddles through water move you on. It’s white and blue, in such good shape that it could be new. The water surface is a gorgeous dark indigo glass on a blue-blessed day. Sunshine and silence abound. A green tree line provides a distant horizon.
Paddling along without issue, I knew in the dream where I was going although on awakening, I don’t have any idea what the mission was. In the dream, I came alongside a structure. It’d arrive out of nowhere. I started paddling along the structure. White and red, it could have been a large, sprawling boat. Down by the water line, its structure offered a zigzagging series of platforms. As I took them in, I grasped that I needed to dock at one of them. Then I could just climb to where I wanted.
The young woman dream aroused me. First, I walked into a room where I found a young woman changing clothes. A big room, it was essentially empty and bland. Young, dusky, and voluptuous, the young woman’s thick hair hung straight down her back. She was totally naked. I was chagrinned to have come in on her. She was matter-of-fact. My wife was present and seemed indifferent to my arrival.
Later, my wife and I are in bed in our jammies. I’m spooning her. We say at the same time, “You’re so warm.” Feeling my erection pressing against her, she asked with an amused look over her shoulder, “Really?” Laughing, I answer, “Really.”
I’m then in bed with a friend, again in jammies. I’m spooning him. We both say, “You’re so warm,” and then laugh.
I once again walk into the room where the young woman has become naked while changing clothes. She’s alone. I smile at her and act flustered. She calls me on walking in on her, accusing me of being transparent and deliberate. I feebly try denying it, but can’t pull that off.
The final dream finds me in a secure building at the day’s end. It’s a cluttered and dark place. Secure filing cabinets with dials to open them are all over. Like others there, I’m getting ready to eave for the day when some shipments come in.
Two are for us. They’re vials. One set of vials have been used in clinical trials while the other are unused. Everything are numbered by lots. Both need to be signed into logs, which involves re-opening the safes. A woman, my boss, and I volunteer to do it. After the others leave, I tell her that I can do it all. Hesitating, she asks, “Are you sure?” “Yes,” I answer, so she leaves.
The vials are red, with a sharp needle attached to an end. As I handle the returned products, I accidently scratch my finger with one. Or did I? Even as I’m worrying, I’m not sure it happened. I’m also concerned about which set of vials it is. At first, I think that it was the used vials, which increases my anxiety. Then I investigate and conclude, no, that were the unused vials. Then, checking numbers again, I decide that it was the used ones, and then decide, no, they were the unused ones. I’m not sure at all but, again, there’s no real sign that I actually did anything to myself.
While I’m worrying and fretting, I’ve been working, opening the safes, making the entries in the logs, and securing the vials. But then, weirdly, I don’t know how to document that I opened the safes. I think I know what I’m supposed to do but can’t find the forms. I’m rifling through files, trying to find them. A friendly co-worker comes back in. I tell him that I can’t find the right forms. He starts searching; he can’t find them, either. As he’s looking, I’m babbling on about how I used to know this, and then recall more details. The co-worker has become irritated because he was just being friendly. Now he’s involved in a problem. Then I remember, oh, we’ve been looking inside the files when they’re attached to the outside of the safes, of course. Of course! How can you annotate what time you’ve closed the safe when the safe is already closed? How can it be verified as closed and locked if it’s not on the outside.
Others have returned to work and are asking what we’re doing. I shrug them off. By now, the co-worker is angry and embarrassed because he was looking inside. It makes him look like he doesn’t know what he was doing.
Dreams end.
