Tag: problems

The Toilets Dream

Last night’s dream was a masterclass in chaos. Had a lot of fecal matter, too.

Backing up a little, I was again in the military, running some operations center. They’d been having issues there and I arrived to fix them. Which I immediately started doing, explaining it to the young airmen there. They began to understand what I was doing.

Weird thing was, the operations center wasn’t the classic secure and windowless, vaultlike facility where I usually worked during my military career. No, this place was part of some kind of large and busy convention center. People were coming and going. Loud, it was getting busier.

After arriving and doing some things at the ops center, I drifted out and changed clothes. Well, I basically took off everything except my underwear. Then I decided to go back to work to ensure everything was okay. To do that, I donned a short, furry pink robe that barely covered my rear end. Wearing only it and my undies, off I went to work.

Musicians were finishing a conference in the ops center, something which was entirely aligned with what I expected. Although they didn’t have instruments, I knew they were musicians, holding a meeting in the ops center conference room. I talked with them a bit, asking about how it had gone, small talk.

Others were impatiently waiting to use the conference room. I rushed around to get it ready for them but so many people were going in and out that I struggled to get anything done. Part of my cleaning was to check the commodes.

The first was out on a busy floor’s center. On carpet. No walls, no way to have privacy.

Which didn’t surprise me. Getting to the toile, I found – OMG, it was completely full with feces!

I was disgusted and angry. What was wrong with people that they kept using it when it obviously not working? How did they even do it? They would have had to squat over the toilet to avoid the piled crap.

I had no idea how to clean it out; there was no water, no way to use a plunger. I would need to shovel that shit out first. I was going to find someone else to do that, and that was an issue for later.

There was another toilet availab. I rushed to check it, confirm it was okay, and tell everyone to use it. But guess what? It, too, was stopped up. It at least had water and wasn’t as full but as soon as I put a plunger in, feces-filled water slopped out.

Nuts. Filling conspicuous in my short pink robe and bare white legs, I decided to go change before trying to fix this mess. Along the way, I ran into my superiors and gave them an update on the twin messes. Then I went on to change.

Dream end

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An Aston Martin Dream

Young again, middle-aged, I was with my wife and others in this place with blue carpets. I don’t know why the others were present, but I was there to see a doctor. The doctor, young, White female, with, with short, dark hair, briefly saw me.

“You need surgery,” she said, indicating my neck. “We’ll do it today.”

That pleased me although I was surprised that my neck was to be operated on. I waited for the my scheduled time to arrive. I noticed the others began dressing up. My wife emerged wearing a dark suit with a white shirt. From overheard snippets, I realized that everyone else was waiting for surgery as well.

I was taken back; I’d not seen the doctor examine any of them. As people came out dressed up, the doctor began telling people when she would see them. Hastily I dressed like the rest, in a black suit with a white shirt and tie, but laughed at it as I did, thinking, this is silly.

Then – poof – the surgery was completed. I didn’t notice a thing but I knew it was done. It’d been so quick and simple, it was completed in an eyeblink.

I encountered my sister-in-law. She and I went off to await everyone else finishing off. I began helping some children drawing with crayons. I ended up with crayon on my white cuffs. While wondering how I was going to clean those off, my SIL showed up with a similar problem. I then took a paper towel and blotted the colors off. I shared what I was doing with her and she started doing the same.

We talked while we did that. I asked when she was going home and how long it would take her. Then I remembered that she lived in Florida. No, she answered with surprise. “I live just an hour and a half away. I’m taking my boyfriend’s train him.”

I hadn’t met her boyfriend but I knew of him. My wife arrived. She and I talked with my SIL and my wife and I announced that we would go get my SIL and her boyfriend some food for their trip home. We went out and bought very large sandwiches with French fries. We ate while we were there.

Then we rushed back to give them their food. They were already gone. We looked down the track to see a three-car train pulling away, which amused me and my wife.

We then needed to go deliver a package. I jumped into my car, a gorgeous and expensive Aston Martin roadster, green, with a white interior. I raced down the highway at very high speeds, overtaking many cars. Then, seeing a line of cars breaking, I slowed down and moved left.

Good thing I did, I told myself, as we overtook a long line of cars and trucks pulling travel trailers. They were stopped. I worried that we wouldn’t be able to mail my package.

Then I pulled up to a booth. Jumping out of the car with my package, I told him what I was doing. He was short, solemn, round Black guy. He listened and worked as I apologized for the state of my package and for not having it correctly prepared.

He shrugged that off, saying something like, “No problem.” I thought the packaging needed to be replaced. He consulted with a co-worker. They agree, it just needed a new clear plastic bag. He put that on, then grinned and told me, all down.

I laughed, surprised at how easy it went. Returning to my car, I prepared to drive away.

Dream end.

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The Cork Dream

I dreamed I was at my mother’s house. It wasn’t her real-life house but I knew what it was in my dream. Although everything was white, there was little light.

I was trying to open some kind of cistern. As it transpired, I knew that it was wine I tried opening, to see how it was. It was supposed to be red wine.

I was being very careful, meticulous, because I worried about the cork falling apart. But it wasn’t the ‘traditional’ cork stopper, but a round, flat circle.

My youngest sister joined me. She asked what I was doing and I softly explained it as she leaned over me and watched. I had just gotten the safely out when something fell into the wine.

I asked my sister, “Did you see that?”

“Yes,” she answered.

“Was that a piece of the cork falling in?”

“Yes.”

“I thought so.” I sat back. “All that work and I got it out and then it broke and fell in.”

I smiled at her. “Oh, well.”

Laughing, she replied, “I know.”

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Running Late: A Dream

I was running late! Very late!

Arriving at where I needed and expected to be – which was never fully realized but was full of busy people – I found the people I work with/for were gone! Worse, I didn’t have the clothing or office equipment like computers and phones which I required.

Tense seconds were spent cursing and thinking. Then, I knew that my team would have provided for me. I just needed to find that stuff.

Considering the environment, I didn’t see anywhere or anything obvious until I spotted a pallet of trash.

Yes, they would hide it there.

I pulled the top of the trash away. Below it was a large black plastic shipping bag. I tugged it out and opened it. Inside were materials marked with my name, including phone, laptop, clothing, and several folders containing information about my assignment and tickets for my trip.

Relieved, I dressed and began wending through the crowd, on my way again.

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A Car & Its Driver

I paced the room, waiting for word about my wife’s 2003 Ford Focus. The car was recently stopping on its own, unsafe and inconvenient.

I resisted thinking it was a battery at first. The car cranked up and fired without any issues but then died.

My wife didn’t think it was a battery. “It starts up. Nothing dims, and it doesn’t have that weak, sluggish sound when it starts.”

I agreed in principle. I checked the battery, confirming, no loose wires or cables, intact and clean. A date on the battery’s side, 05 20, surprised me.

Telling my spouse about it, I added, “I didn’t think the battery was that old.”

We reminisced about buying it. Delivering Food & Friends alone because the COVID pandemic was underway, her car died enroute. She called me to rescue her, which I gleefully did to escape the house.

I reminded her, recent ‘high-discharge’ batteries don’t show the same dying battery symptoms we grew up seeing. Then I recalled, it was cold when the car died on her a couple times this week. Cold affects how much energy batteries can deliver.

I decided, checking the battery was where to begin. An appointment at Les Schwab, a mile away, was made for 10 AM this morning.

I started the Focus without any issue; it died five seconds later. I started it again. Death came five seconds later.

Three times was a charm, but I worried about the car dying as I drove to the appointment.

The Les Schwab tech confirmed, bad battery. “One cell is completely dead,” he said.

That fit, to me. A couple hundred dollars later, we believe we have the problem solved.

Whether the problem is truly solved won’t be clear until the car has been driven normally a few times. I have high confidence it’s fixed, though.

But — knock on wood.

Just in case.

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Wenzdaz Wandering Thoughts

A new problem arrived at our house.

My wife’s car died on her the other day. Absolutely no power — lights, radio, engine, etc., a very disconcerting event. Fortunately, she was in a parking lot and easily steered to a safe place. It started right back up, but you can imagine the alarm a car dying without warning can give you.

A 2003 Ford Focus purchased new, 110,000 miles are on the car’s odometer. It’s been garaged for all of its life and pretty well maintained. She only uses it for local buzzing around, usually driving just three miles in any direction. Once a month, she might go further, up to twelve miles away.

Now, though, she’s working on a project that requires her to meet with others, pick up things, all that. The big event is Feb. 1. She’s been working on it for months, pulling it together.

I’ve been trying to convince her to trade in the Focus for new wheels for years. In fact, when we bought our CX-5 over ten years ago, it was supposed to be her car to drive. We would then purchase a second car for me and trade in the Focus. She reneged on the agreement and kept her car.

I told her to take the Mazda but, she doesn’t want to drive it, having driven it once since we bought it.

So, it’s a drop everything, change my schedule day to get this resolved. I drove her to her appointments and local garage will check it tomorrow. I have my suspicions about the cause, but we’ll wait for the experts.

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Short-sighted Solutions, Complex Problems

Drew Magery lashed out on SF Gate with an arresting piece, “JD Vance is a piece of s—t”. Magery critiqued how Vance carries on the Trump practice of bending reality and spreading misinformation.

Magery’s anger is contagious, and it hardens my own frustration with what’s happening in the United States. Examining the stack of events, it seems clear that Trump uses diversions from issues like the Epstein files to maintain his base support.

To his supporters, Trump offers solutions such as capping interest rates or creating home-buying schemes. These measures address symptoms and energize a base that distrusts banks, viewing them as elitist institutions.

Yet these proposals don’t address the root causes. Low wages and the reliance on credit to cover essentials push prices up via supply and demand. Credit card debt is a symptom of the U.S.’s market-oriented economy; a simple cap might make splashy headlines, but it won’t fix it.

Likewise, Trump’s attempts to encourage homeownership are unlikely to succeed. Housing supply is limited, and that limitation stems from a complex mix of zoning, construction, labor, and infrastructure issues. Increasing mortgage availability without addressing supply may even drive prices higher, as more buyers compete for the same homes.

The situation is worsened by climate change. Extreme weather, wildfires, and prolonged drought threaten housing stability and supply across the country. Yet Trump and the GOP consistently deny climate science and oppose measures to mitigate its effects.

Returning to Magery’s critique of JD Vance, the Trump Administration’s approach is to deny facts and evade responsibility, especially when policies produce negative outcomes.

That, to me, is the nub of the problem. Trump, the GOP, and their base want quick, easy solutions to systemic problems rooted in culture and structure. Real solutions require hard work, difficult choices, and confronting uncomfortable truths — none of which will happen if people continue to ignore facts.

MAGA is fundamentally about nostalgia — “Making America Great Again.” The movement promises a return to a simpler time but refuses to confront the long-term, structural problems which actually determine outcomes. They prefer finding easy targets as scapegoats.

This creates a cycle of frustration and illusion. So long as this pattern continues, the solutions pursued will recede further from reach. Military action won’t help. Greater attacks on immigrants won’t help. Crackdowns on protestors and freedom of speech won’t help. Nor will increased polarization and divisiveness.

If this cycle continues, I wonder, when will Trump’s base accept reality, roll up their sleeves, and go to work on the hard solutions?

Judging from what I read on sites crowing about Trump’s ideas and victories, many years will stack up before that happens.

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I Might Just Be Okay

When I say I’m alright

I might just be okay

But there could be such a heavy load

That it takes too much to say

You can look for clues in my face

These things usually leave a trace

But what’s going on in my inner space

Is really not in play

I need time to process

To evolve an understanding

Of where I’m at and who I am

After this last round of changes

So when I say I’m alright

I might just be okay

Then okay, I could be miserable

I just don’t want to say

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

Some days, shit is happening, and all you can do is pretend to pursue the normal aspects of being. For one, war is hettin’ up in the Middle East or whatever you want to call it. It’s been a war zone for years. It’s usually a matter of who is going to strike back, how, and when. There will be violence, death, and destruction. The Middle East quagmire of religions, history, and tribes and factions are overstocked with tendencies to war.

Personally, dispiriting matters keep piling up in my world. I don’t write about all of them. Not going to start now. My basic bottom line which I return to again and again, is, this is life. Many of us — hell, I’ll go out on a limb and declare that most of us — go through this shit. I can only imagine how worse the shit is magnified if you’re suffering from serious diseases, homelessness, racism and other prejudice, discrimination, or hate. On paper, I have it pretty good but life is lived on a spectrum. We slide up and down it. I’m on the down side today.

We watched again a Neflix series on the gut and the biome’s influence on our brains and pains.* As part of this show, they talked about fecal transplants. Transplants were done by people who had problems and were seeking solutions. One woman used her boyfriend’s fecal material as her transplant source. She noted that he has ‘mental issues’ but didn’t specify more. Or maybe I spaced on it. I did catch her say that she began acting and feeling like him, emotionally unstable, anxious, and depressed. She quit using his shit and used her brother’s shit. After a week, she felt much better.

I imagine a future of routine fecal transplants. A partner on the computer says, “I’m ordering some groceries and things. Is there anything you need?”

“Yes, get me some new shit. I’m almost out of shit and I’m feeling it.”

“What shit do you want?”

“Same shit as last time. It should be in your order history.”

“Is it the Tom Cruise brand Improved Shit?”

“Yes, that’s the shit, but get a big jar. I’m really feeling it.”

“You got it.”

I think about whose shit I might order. Maybe Taylor Swift, Tom Brady, or Patrick Mahomes. I pity the fool who tries mine. But then again, I know people with some shit that’s a lot worse.

*The Neflix series is You Are What You Eat: A Twin Experiment

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