When I wake up in the morning, unless I’m heading off to the beach or on vacation, there is no bounding out of bed to tackle the day. It’s generally a case of dragging butt to get out of bed and slog through the morning, with great reliance upon the magical properties of coffee.
This morning, all snuggled in bed, I was having a super nice
dream where I was eating appetizers at a tall bar counter with a handsome guy. Feel
free to insert your own version of “handsome guy” here – it is probably different
than my version, but no worries. Eye of the beholder and all, y’all.
In the dream, the tall, handsome guy was super wicked into
me and I was into him. It triggered fond memories of forever ago and having a romantic
interest. And then the stupid alarm went off and the dream was shattered with
the reality of life at The BungaLowell. I needed to prepare breakfast for
Canine Overlord Winston, make coffee, grab a shower, get dressed.
Like so often happens, a song exploded in my head. It wasn't even a surprise that it was “Last
Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me” by The Smiths.
Last night I dreamt
That somebody loved me
No hope, no harm
Just another false alarm
Last night I dreamt
Real arms around me
No hope, no harm
Just another false alarm
Waking up in a somber Morrissey song/mood
wasn’t horrible. Mostly, it was familiar.
Back downstairs after
dressing, I discovered that my hair wasn’t the only thing soaking wet. There
was a massive pee puddle on the living room rug. Mopping dog pee fit with
feeling bummed about having my nice dream ended by the clock.
Over at the remote office desk, it
was another day of warfare with technology. Yesterday, many desktop icons were missing,
but today they were ALL missing. Normally, to find a file it’s as simple as clicking
on the yellow folder icon, but just like the freshly evaporated nice morning dream, the “my
documents” folder was gone. Disappeared. Poof. Just a memory.
The system was so slow by midafternoon that it felt like being in 1995-96 and waiting for a dialup internet connection. It was a day for flashbacks -- 80s music, mid 90s dial-up. Oy. I had to log out of everything and restart. It helped, but it was still slow.
After a comforting supper of rice and veggies dressed with a dash of sweeet chili sauce and sriracha, additional comfort was sought in the form of "Next in Fashion" on Netflix and a movie size box of Milk Duds. It was an improvement over the day, but nothing like the vibe of that morning dream.
If only I could manifest a
romance as easily as I can manifest an empty box of candies. Not only did that stupid dream make me miss having a boyfriend, the Netflix show is making me miss the days when I sewed. Must be time to dive into a comedy. And bust out the sewing machine.
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