The Writing Moment
One of those days of sunshine and just the right smell and air texture that my brain asked, “You sure you want to go to the coffee shop? Sure you want to be inside, siting at a laptop at a table, inside, mind you, did I point that out, pecking away on a keyboard? Are you sure that you want to do that on such a pretty springy, summery day? Just think what it’s like outside. You get a chair and go out there and read and doze…you should think about it.”
I did think about it. So gosh darn tempting. Then I remembered what was happening with the character, plot, story, and suddenly I was in a hurry to get to the coffee shop, plant my ass, and peck away.
Just Wondering
Just wondering if anyone else ever leaves the desk in the home office, only to come back and find that the laundry fairy has dumped a load of clothes on the desk to be folded?
Running Dream
First, my wife and I were in a department store, one like the late K-Mart. We were some variations of our real selves. She was shopping and I was just hanging around, hovering, waiting. As I meandered, hands in pockets, I spotted four young woman. Nothing remarkable about them, they were short young adults. Each was different from clothing to hair, except they were all dusky, with dark hair, and all seemed happy. I gathered they were planning some prank. Something overheard made me think of them as security, as in law enforcement, which baffled me because nothing in their appearance, age, or demeanor declared, Security!
So I kept wandering, watching them, trying to understand what they were plotting. Each produced a toy gun. One noted my presence to the others. They talked and laughed about me — I could discern this although I didn’t know what was being said — and then, guns raised, they walked toward me and started shooting. Their ammo were small eraser like pellets. They didn’t hurt at all. Nonetheless, I hunkered down, turning my face away and covering my head with my arms and hands to protect myself.
Laughing, they walked away and I stood. My wife came up and asked what was going on. I explained it all, finding her one of the many pellets on the ground and showing it to her. She declared that I should turn them in. I didn’t want to, thinking them harmless. My wife returned to her shopping. I watched the girls more as they separated, then decided to leave. As I was leaving the store, going down a small set of steps to the door, one of the girls shoot me a few times in the back and laughed. I shook my head, dismissing her.
The dream shifted. Someone unspecified and unknown asked me if I was interested in some event. Details were sketchy. Bored, I agreed. I then met up with a young man, no one from RL, I knew him. He was tanned, with a thatch of thick, black hair, a wide, toothy white grin, short and pudgy. We went to catch transportation to the event. The running shoes I wore were new and hurt my feet. They just felt too narrow, pinching the sides of my feet.
We got on an old school bus with many others, all males, and were taken to a field, a short journey. There I learned that we were supposed to be taking part in a running event. I was annoyed because I didn’t know that’s what we were going to do. If I’d known, I would have worn different shoes. But I was stuck with us. Waiting, many of us took our shoes off. We were all wondering why we were waiting. I realized that most of the others were in military uniforms, variations of desert style camouflage. Unshaven, they were in the US Army. I held myself away from them because I as ex Air Force, but didn’t say anything.
I wanted to get running and get it done. Several others were expressing the same thing. My young friend was saying no, wait. I kept asking why, what are you waiting for. While he would explain, I gathered he was waiting for other friends, which annoyed me. Finding my shoes, I announced I was going to start running.
My shoes fit much better. I was surprised how comfortable they were and then realized, that was because they weren’t my shoes. Taking them off, I found my shoes and fiddled with them, pushing out the sides and loosening the strings to make them more comfortable. That worked to a moderate degree.
Feeling like the shoes would work for a distance, I announced that I was going to start running. Others were saying the same. A few began jogging. I decided I was going to run the entire route and took off running fast. As I ran, I heard others talking about how fast I was running. That prompted me to run faster and harder. I vowed that I was going to run fast the entire way. Everyone was going to be amazed by how fast I ran.
Then I was off, by myself, running.
Unsolicited
We come to the matter of shaving. I’ve been doing it since I was fifteen years old. Being in the military for twenty years meant that I shaved my face every duty day and never went more than one day without shaving.
I used to try new ideas whenever they came on the scene, trying to achieve that closer, smoother, more comfortable shave they were forever promising. Little helped. I started with throwaway razors. Then there were double blades. Triple blades. A little lubricating strip. Swivel head. All okay but nothing that made headlines.
Meanwhile, prices, lordy how the prices went up. Used to buy a five pack for about three dollars. Now I was buying thirteen razors — Gillette somethings with three or four blades — for almost thirty dollars. At Costco, where low prices rule.
Walking into Costco last week, I saw a display for Harry’s razors. I’d seen them advertised at different places on the net and TV. And yeah, they interested me. These were on sale, thirteen blades for thirteen dollars. Since I was running low on razors, I decided to give them a shot but I wasn’t expecting anything shave-changing.
Well, first, they were a little weirdly shaped, enough of a difference to make me wonder about how they were going to go over my face. Had five blades, but yawn, who doesn’t? Ditto, lubricating strip. Well, I used it and holy cow, it was so much more comfortable. And yeah, it did give me a closer shave.
I stared at it in my hand. What witchcraft was this?
Whatever it was, I recommend trying them. They impressed a jaded old grizzly like me. Might impress you, too.
Twins
After leaving the garage, he looked down the street. There, in the middle, was a doe with her twin fawns. Appearing almost brand new, they were adorable. He called his wife out so she could see. Watching together as the doe and her fawns came up the street — mama walking slow, the fawns galloping in spurts — they wondered if she was the same doe who’d been hanging around their yard.
After the family disappeared behind the neighbor’s house across the street, he left in his car. Arriving at a stop light, he saw a mother with her twins on a bicycle. Wearing helmets, blond curls sticking out, the twins looked like they were about two years old, tiny perfect human replicas.
It was a good day for twins. It felt like the world was making a statement. As often with the world’s statements, he just wasn’t certain what the statement was.
Thursday’s Wandering Thoughts
After taking some meds, he learned again that if some is good, more isn’t always better. The rule of moderation was proven again. The question for everyone, with everything, was always, what constitutes moderation? Difficulty comes because it changes with age, health, and circumstances. Re-consideration and adjustments are often required.
Wednesday’s Wandering Thought
Today’s household topic is underwear with pockets. They’re for men, of course. Some obscure law was passed in the bronze age that women’s clothing should not have pockets. Also, because men need pockets in everything. They expect pockets. How do we know if it’s men’s clothing if there aren’t pockets? What are we, savages?
The purported reason for pocket is to either carry your phone in your underwear pocket or so you can put treats in your UW pocket. Both suggestions have me scratching my head and thinking, “What the hell? I feel so deprived because my underwear lacks pockets. Not fair!” I must admit that I’ve never been in my skivvies and nothing else, and thought, if only I had a pocket.
I do imagine amorous scenes where an undie pocket comes in handy. Picture this: a man is stripping down before his partner. Now in his underwear, he whispers, “You want some of this?” Then he slowly reaches down to the front of his undies, and pulls out a bag of nuts.
What else were you expecting?
The Cougar Dream
Dreamed about a cougar last night. Yes, it was a gorgeous creature, full grown with impressive fangs, and not an older woman out to seduce me.
I was visiting family, and sometimes the four seemed like RL family. But my dream mind played tricks, shuffling different people in and out, disheveling my thoughts.
The four were in a small and crowded apartment. Wearing a harness and chain, the cougar was their pet. The chain wasn’t short and the cougar could go anywhere in the little space it pleased. Often gazing with intense eyes, its sharp teeth on display, the animal scared the hell out of me.
“Oh, he won’t hurt you,” they told me. “Just feed him.” They threw a chunk of bloody raw meat to the cat, who took it up in its mouth and trotted away behind a sofa.
Two large white dogs were also present. I kept worrying that the cougar would attack and kill one of the dogs. They seemed like they were constantly running away.
“Oh, don’t worry,” the people told me. “That cougar won’t hurt anyone.”
I remained dubious about that, trying to keep attention on the cougar’s location and activities. Then I fed him several times, throwing chunks of raw meat to him. That didn’t seem like enough food for an animal of his size. Eventually the huge carnivore came over and lied down beside me. I petted his muscled body and he purred, prompting me to wonder in the dream, do cougars purr?
Michael Seidel, writer 