It was Sister, at 6 in the morning, calling me up to let me know that the painkillers were working.
Thank you for that information.
At 6 in the morning, a holiday morning, a holiday Sunday morning, her mental condition was rather amusing.
She’d had a lump removed, about the size of marble, and the whatever-the-hell she was taking for pain was certainly working. It was that high-pitched giggle, someone who’s had a little too much to drink. Or think. Or consumed too much of something.
“I’m supposed to take two every four hours, so I’m taking one every two hours, right?”
“I can’t feel my face,” she was telling me, “I think I’ll call someone else now. Maybe it was four every hour.”
More giggling.
The higher mind, mathematics – this from a woman with a degree in Bio-Chem engineering.
At least I know she’s got 24-hour, around the clock supervision. I’m thinking, maybe this is a good idea for most Gemini people.
A loaded Gemini, first thing in the morning, no problem for me, as I was fishing, and all I did was plug in the headset. I could talk for hours.
A couple of guys passing on boat thought I was a little weird, but I was talking on a phone, so it didn’t matter.
Watching the way technology marches forward, I’m wondering, will we be talking into air some day? Phone so small, it fits in an ear cuff? How do you tell the crazy ones, just talking to thin air, from the other crazy ones, talking on a phone?
Which only leads….
Dream Sequence:
Some dreams are prophetic. Some dreams are just flat-out weird. I was driving a rent car in the Davis Mountains, and I stopped someplace to look at something. Near as I can recall, there’s a rest area or picnic ground, between Balmorhea and Ft. Davis. Old CCC project, just a couple of picnic tables, rough rockwork, cute and picturesque as can be.
I stopped there, and I was thinking about taking a picture, plus there was a fishing pole in the front seat of the car I was driving, and apparently, I wasn’t wearing a shirt. N.B.: sounds a lot like the morning’s activities. Fishing pole, no shirt, drizzle.
So I met Jimmie Two-Feathers, and he was hawking goods at a bazaar, and I finally found a belt-buckle knife I had a while back. I didn’t buy it, though, because, let’s face facts, even in my dreams, those blades are more illegal – at least banned – and cause more headaches than just about any other toy.
Breakfast tacos, Gemini sister’s call and coffee produce weird dreams.
