Well, hell. I didn't die in my sleep and had a bunch of weird dreams. I convinced Nancy Pelosi to allow me to make a movie during her Parade of Triumph with two thousand nicely dressed middle class victims on a nice summer day. I improvised a bunch of silly scenes with amateurs who agreed to do Fellini-style comedy gags, and when I pushed an elevator button in a hotel, the door was opened by a prosperous Jewish lawyer and his girlfriend. It wasn't an elevator, it was his apartment. I apologized, explained the mistake and persuaded him to produce the movie. I demonstrated why it would cost $5000, visualizing a mile-long strip of 16mm that had to be edited. He seemed intrigued, so I went to get my 3rd wife and her boyfriend, all of us penniless, said we were going to see a movie at a theater somewhere in London which always confuses me because it's in the future and twice as big and twice as poor as present. I told them to sit in a restaurant, I'd be right back after I found the cinema.
Sure enough, I was on the wrong street, no movie house. Then the dog started barking on his chain outside and NPR was broadcasting choral crap (in reality). I was awake and went out to discover that my 4th wife's stupid dog was at the door, had raided my shihtzu's food bowl again, and was happy to see me (in reality). I yelled at her and told her to go home. Another day with nothing to do, another morning to blow my nose, cough, wash my face, brush my teeth, smoke cigarettes and eat Oscar Mayer when I think I'm ready to deal with it again.
Maybe I'll ford the creek on foot and walk a mile and a half to Carol's house, move a log that's blocking a spot in the forest where she wants to park her truck, the solenoid of which had finally been fixed by a shade tree mechanic after a two month delay for no reason.
Yesterday, I waited four hours to do carpentry without doing any, while my dysfunctional clients, a brother and sister, quarreled with each other. I declined the opportunity to eat a splendid chicken dinner with them and walked home in the dark to liberate my dog. I had left him locked in the tin barn for his own safety. We have owls as big as flying elephants, packs of hungry coyotes on the hunt for fluffy little shihtzus.
Scanning my eight available FM channels in the barn, Janet Mefford called Donald Trump a disrupter-in-chief, hurrying the End Times. Reminded me of an AFR interview with a writer who was visiting Saudi Arabia, had sold 10 million copies in a popular series of novels about the End Times. Very respectable, calm and confident about his place in the world. I switched to a Salem broadcast hosted by Eric Metaxas. His guest explained that, despite the doctrine that Jesus was descended from King David, Joseph wasn't his biological father. God was.
Excuse me. I have to trim my shihtzu's feathers. They grow and grow and grow, and I have to scissor some matted tangles between his legs, not something he's pleased to let me do.
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