It is here, the disgustingly hot of Summer. It’s Houston, TX, so there’s still a few more degrees to add on, but for all intents and purposes it’s blue blazes outside.
I’ve moved into the bedroom, forsaking the rest of the house unless it is absolutely necessary—kitchen for food, garage for laundry or going out. Forget everything else. When the mercury reads 100+ degrees outside our A/C can, at best, get the house down to 80. Several years ago we purchased a rolling A/C unit to put in the bedroom. R2, as it’s affectionately known (thought it looks more like R5-G19, along with two oscillating fans, keep my polar-bear-with-gravy-for-blood fat ass from melting.
(we could not have survived before electricity. we’d have lost our shit and had to be put down.)
Continue reading “Journaling June: The Weather Outside is Frightful”
Last night I had a dream set in The Structure. The Structure is an all indoor world, with shopping districts, living districts, manufacturing districts, etc. It’s very antiseptic and manufactured, like living inside a huge mall, except there are no windows. For all intents and purposes, there is no outside.
In these dreams I am generally on a quest. This time I was part of a team looking for parts to repair the failing systems of The Structure. There was a problem. I had no idea what was broken, nor even if I had, how to fix any of it. The others in my group knew I was useless and were trying to distance themselves from me. Somehow, even if they were able to find the piece to fix the problem, having me in the group would bring us all down.
Not only was my world literally falling apart around me, but even if it were to be fixed, I was getting ostracized. Being on one’s own in The Structure is as much a death sentence as all the systems failing.
Thankfully my bladder woke me up before anything happened.
Continue reading “Journaling June: A Middle Way”
“Here’s your card,” I say, handing over her debit card. “Do you need to know how much I spent?”
(she didn’t bite. we have to do something else.)
Continue reading “Journaling June: Damnable Rascal”
When our life is over, we’re dead. What were we before we were born? Assuming that the nothingness after life is the same as the nothingness before life, were we dead before? If so, doesn’t that make us zombies, of a sort? The Un-undead?
What We Leave Behind
Holes mark the wall where our memories used to hang. Now just dust outlines.