She entered the coffee shop, stopping by the door to peruse her phone. She resembled his younger sister so much that he studied her in depth, thinking of the similarities. Then, he realized, he wasn’t thinking of his sister as she now was, mother to two teenagers, but she’d been, fresh faced out of high school, so young and pretty.
The Cheating Dream
What a dream, I’m telling you. Began with my wife and I on a spiritual pilgrimage. We stopped at a small place that seemed to be built inside a cave. They were studying odd phenomena. Included were a series of three holes in the cave’s walls. The holes were square. They didn’t know how they got there. People studied them to see if they were changing or static. My wife suggested I should study them because she thought me good at analyzing things. At the group’s insistence, I gave it a shot.
The holes were very dusty. When I looked into them, I could see that they slanted down and to the left. They seemed to have a flap door on the right side which could cover them. That was part of the controversy. Discussions were revolving whether those flap had always been there, and if the holes were now dustier than they used to be.
I’d glanced at each of the holes when I approached them, then went to the first one on the left. The group provided me sketches which the group had made, so I could look for differences. The first two were examined and no changes were seen. But I immediately saw changes on the third hole, on the right. I pointed it out in excitement, asking a member of the group if he saw the change. This hole was also lit from below. I was intensely interested in climbing into the hole and going down into it, but was also afraid of what was there. I kept leaning in, listening while watching for differences.
My wife had been behind me to my left while this was going on. Now she said, “I’m going to look around. Remember that we need to make a decision before 8:30, and then we’ll go.” Then she walked off.
I kept studying the hole. Suddenly I realized that it was 3 AM. Time had flown past. I was alone. I asked, “Where is my wife?” I walked around looking for her, complaining to myself but aloud, “We were supposed to make a decision hours ago, and leave. Where did she go?”
Opening a door, I discovered my wife in bed with a young white man with short blonde hair. He was very skinny, no one I know from real life.
When the door opened, they separated. Realizing it was me, the man was whimpering and trying to get out of bed and run.
He fell onto the floor. I stormed across the room and grabbed him by his head. He screamed and started crying. A small, round, white table was beside the bed. I prepared to slam his head against the table.
I stopped myself as I bent to do it. He was part of this but what would hurting or killing him do? I paused, thinking about that.
My wife grabbed my arm. “Michael, stop. Please don’t hurt him.”
I turned my head toward her and snapped, “Don’t touch me.”
She pulled her head away and stepped back. I let go of the man and turned toward her. “You did this,” I said. “You started this.”
Dream end.
It took me over an hour to go back to sleep.
Monday’s Theme Music
Feels like Marpril today. No wind, light spring showers and robust sunshine making nice. 50 degrees F in sight with eyes toward 65 F.
It’s Monday, Marpil 13, 2023, 3.4/13/2023. Sunrise took over at 7:26 AM and the sun’s rule will continue in Ashlandia until 7:15 PM. Snow still caps the mountains and ridges, so you have a developing spring portrait set against a snowy black and white background.
The spring ahead hour change is a little drain on my morning buoyancy. Yes, I do enjoy a little bounce before my coffee. Ain’t big, but it’s there. It comes from the sunshine streaming in when I get up. Now, we’ve set the time forward and the sunshine ain’t there, and there goes my bounce to eagerly take on the day. Back to the roll out trudge for a few days.
I’m one of those who come down against the time change. I don’t think much is saved. I’ve seen studies which vet that. Is it worth it for what it does to so many people’s individual energy banks and lives?
Thinking about time drove The Neurons to deliver a plethora of songs about time. I asked Bing’s fancy new search engine how many songs about time have been written. It replied, “I’m not sure. One source cites more than twenty-seven. Another says there’s been thirty.” Damn, I think I could brainstorm thirty before my coffee.
Anyway, I moved away from the usual and favorites. Those are the ones heard in childhood, so they have staying power, or the ones which came at a special moment in life. Instead, I just rolled some in my head. Finally, good old Kevn came through.
No, Kevin isn’t a performer or a brain cell’s name, or search engine. Kevin is a friend. we spent time together in the mid to late nineties. He was a Darius Rucker, Hootie & the Blowfish fan. Thanks to him and a camping trip with him (Laguna Seca, for the vintage cars), I know the song, “Time” by H&tB from 1993. Good sing, I think. It is one of those songs, which, while listening to it, we asked one another, “What is he singing?”
Stay pos and enjoy your day. Carpes diem, yo. I’m carpes some coffee. Here’s the Blowfish. Cheers
Monday’s Wandering Thought
He feels like he’s chasing time. Time is like a red laser dot, nominally a pointer, but often used to tease cats, and he’s the cat. He knows he can’t catch the time dot but he can’t stop his nature from trying.
A Shambolic Dream
Arriving somewhere outside, I was met by a man I knew. I’d worked with him at a startup after my military career. Now he was dressed as a light colonel. Greeting me and my wife, he said, thumb over shoulder to indicate direction, “Come on over here and join us. We’re going to review your records.”
So first, I acted like that was completely and totally normal. I said to my wife, “Oh, I guess I’m in the military.” She agreed and went off to do something while I went through my review.
Several problems immediately presented. One, no uniform. Two, haircut out of regs. So was the mustache. Three, I needed to get my records.
My records were to have been pulled and sent over for the review. I was directed over to an area where a table was set up like it was in a record store, but this was all outside under a sunny early autumn day. People were milling, going through the sectioned records, searching for their records. Someone offered to help me. As I went through them, I found my records and so announced. But wait; those weren’t my records. The first and last names were correct, but the middle name was wrong. On, no, they’d sent over the wrong records.
As I swore a bit about what had happened, I noticed another table to the left. It wasn’t set up in the same way. I stepped over to it and there were my records.
I rushed them over to the large card table where the review was being conducted. I knew several of those folks from both military and civilian careers. As I came up, I heard one chief master sergeant say, “But that’s how he aways is.” Others agreed.
I was mortified. Were they speaking of me? What did they mean?
They reviewed others’ records. When it came to be my turn, I joked with them and then explained that I was just back, I’d been visiting with my mother, who’d been very sick. They seemed disinterested. They looked through my records and commented on my haircut and lack of uniform. I told them that I was trying to get it together. One said, “Didn’t you come back from being with your mother a few weeks ago?” When I answered yes, he continued, “Then shouldn’t you have it together by now?”
“Yes,” I agreed. “Let me go get my haircut. My wife was just telling me that I needed to get one. And my uniform is in my locker. I’ll get it and put it on.”
I went off, with my wife joining me. We were mumbling to one another about the situation. She had my clothes, having gotten them out of my locker. Great, but they were horribly wrinkled. Where could I iron them or have them pressed? There was no time, no time.
Then, some young airman dressed in a black pseudo-NAZI military uniform insulted my wife. Overhearing it, I was furious. Confronting him, I wanted to hit him but instead warned him that I was taking action against him. Laughing, he told me, “Fuck you.” That pissed me off further. Another person attempted to defend him as the first guy stood there laughing. I told both that I was busting their asses before my wife pulled me away.
Stepping out of the locker area, I put on the wrinkled pants. Others, including the board members, turned and watched. I then tugged on the shirt only to realize that the shirt and pants were from two different uniform combinations and didn’t match. I thought, oh my God, now I’m screwed.
The guy who greeted me at the dream’s beginning came up. He said, “Don’t worry about any of this. We’re cutting you a break.” As I responded with astonished relief, he went on, “They reported that they found a spell on you, a curse. We’ve lifted that, but since you were under it up to this point, we thought we’d give you a pass.”
The dream ended as I was absorbing this.
Thursday’s Theme Music
A sublime rollout of sunshine woke the valley at 7:21 this morning. True, large swaths of the valley’s population were already awake or now retiring to sleep. Depends on your species and intentions, doesn’t it?
October 13, 2022, has arrived, a Thursday in the common era. A mountainous presence lowered the air’s temperature to a pleasant mid-fifties Fahrenheit overnight. Our meteorologic oracles say temperatures will climb to the high eighties. They said the same yesterday but our sector never saw anything above 81 degrees F. Not that I’m complaining. It was coolish but sunny, comfortable weather for short sleeves and short pants. The lower temperature seems to be a collateral impact from the Cedar Creek smoke veiling the sun. Not too smoky, it’s a moderate haze that manages to pull our air quality to less than ideal level, 63. The solar system’s movement will bring us sunset at 6:32 PM.
Now it’s up to the daylighters to decide what to do in this time and environment. I have a variety of chores and actions needed to catch up with modern demands, which is often known as ‘paperwork’ even when it comes in electronic form. We had a celebratory beer for our departed member, Chris, and planned our annual celebration of being which will be in November this year. Paella is the featured dish.
Of course, I’m sitting here as sunshine completes its morning takeover thinking, okay, it’s time to do this and that. Time to get cleaned up and dressed. Time to make some phone calls, check some emails, read some blogs, write some fiction. Time to watch the Jan 6 hearings, time to —
Well, the point has been driven in, hasn’t it? It was ‘the time’. The Neurons leaped onto the words. “Oh, oh, oh,” they shouted. “Here’s a song about that.”
They began playing “It’s Time” by Imagine Dragons from 2012. That delivered me to now, where the song continues rolling through the morning mental music stream. And here I am.
Yes, the coffee is brewed and ready to drink. It’s time to get on with the day and get things done. Stay positive, test negative, and carry on with what you need to do. It’s time, don’t you know.
Cheers
Michael Seidel, writer 