I woke up Tuesday morning with images from a dream still filtering through my subconscious, like drip coffee through a filter.
The image was a former lover, a Sagittarius, from more than a decade ago. The scene was, like at a bank, and for some reason, I was seated behind the counter. I knew it was in Austin, like, you know, one of the banks downtown here.
The former lover walks up to the counter, and she’s got two little girls in tow, both age five or six, doing whatever it is that little girls do.
Now, in the dream, I knew certain points, like, one of the little girls was a six years old, and the child belonged to the former lover. Haven’t seen that ex in over a decade, do the math.
Just a strange trick of the planets, I’m sure.
More on Mercury:
Wind was up in the morning, strong and from the south east, so I opted for a flipping stick, and I was going to try working on a little fine tune to the casting skills. Using a baitcast reel isn’t hard, it’s the the one where the operator has to thumb the line at the right point to prevent “professional backlash,” which is nothing more than a tangled mess of line.
Some days, I wonder if I’ve forgotten more than I know, and I was working a jig through the creek bottom, certainly not anticipating any fish, but I was definitely enjoying hitting targets, trying to get a good thirty-foot pitch going. All about the rhythm.
And I was doing so well, I was quite proud, for a few moments. Then, once again, pride goeth before the tangle.
I wound up with a nasty snarl. Eventually, I played out over half the line on the reel, maybe 50 yards or so before I got the mess untangled.
Halfway through the unknotting experience, I smiled to myself, almost a silly grin. Mercury. Retrograde. Can’t fight it. So I’m sure I looked a little silly, grinning and wrestling with backlash.
I had an afternoon phone reading, and after that, a little fishing and then a quick catnap. The alarm went off. Twice. I dozed right through it. I woke up with three minutes to make a fifteen minute dash. Halfway there, I called up the client, “I’m running a little late, stuck in traffic you know,” and at the same time, she was leaving me a voice mail, “We running a little late,” and she really was stuck in traffic.
So I wandered into the coffee shop, and she was right behind me with a new client in tow. I’m planning on seeing Kinky at the bookstore Wednesday night, so we were discussing plans while waiting to place an order. “So we’re going to the Crazy Lady before, then to the book signing, and….”
To non-Austin folks, and maybe even some of the more delicate Austin folks who never venture into a place like that, the Crazy Lady is a “gentleman’s club.” Or, as we say, it’s a titty bar. The reason for the field trip, as I dubbed it, is the reputation that the dancers have – it’s not a high-class place, at least, that’s it’s street rep. Or, as my friend suggested, this is third and fourth hand data, the term that was bantered about was “skanky.”
A massage class was gathering to study anatomy. One of the lads overheard our conversation and wanted to know what class it was that would take a field trip to the Crazy Lady. Much hilarity ensued. I seriously doubt I’ll make the field trip portion of Wednesday’s schedule. No “groping for trout in a peculiar river” for me (ad lib from Shakespeare’s Measure for Measure.)
Any meeting with that Libra usually ends up at Amy’s. Stopped at Jo’s and fetched up three triple espressos. Wandered back to Amy’s and I had mine packed with Mexican Vanilla. But on the menu, just as a special for the night?
Slick Fifty – Guinness (Amy’s homemade) ice cream with espresso and Kaluha
I wandered home, suitably wired. It was strange night.
The mild weather meant that I could fish a little, too.
Before midnight, the sunfish and catfish were hitting.
Foot-long Channel Cat
And a tiny “Warmouth” (sunfish)
