It's definitely a two Mountain Dew day. It's been surprisingly busy at work. Wait, it shouldn't be a surprise. But it was surprising to me because I wasn't paying attention. Perhaps the routine I have works too well. Soon I won't need to think at all. Even my surprise will be scheduled.

Perhaps it's time to dig. 

What else has been on my mind? Oh, an anti-climactic dream. Escaping a twisted maze of horrors, and then simply bursting out from the exit. I was expecting it to be a proper nightmare, and I would be trapped endlessly. Then it just lets me out. To go about my business.

You need to step up your game, subconscious. 

Then again, it was recently the anniversary of my brother's death. It's not utterly crushing anymore. Perhaps the dream meant it's still there, but now I can go in and out as I choose.

That's a dumb meaning. 

Been thinking about my dog, Watson. I was looking up images of greyhound/pitbull mixes. I learned that a sighthound mixed with working dog is referred to as a "lurcher." The fifteen minutes of internet research I did indicates that the dog is meant to have the hunting ability of the sighthound with increased cleverness.

It was the preferred hound of poachers. That's my boy. 

Watson probably ruined me as any kind of trainer of dogs. He was very good at figuring out what I wanted him to do. Not that he would necessarily do it, but he understood. With these new pups I expect them to understand what I want but no, they do not. They are dog's dogs. 

How fascinating to be a dog. Essentially a biological robot. Bred for generations by another species who doesn't entirely know what they're doing. 

In other news, a puppy was born with six legs and is still alive. Getting closer to my dream of a doggo-pillar. Then we can get to work on the cater-cat-pillar. 

I can see how easy it is to get obsessed with money. I'm sitting here with my tax return and I definitely feel like I can do anything. I know I can't, but I feel like I can. My first fantasy is to turn the backyard patio into a pseudo-oasis. Lay wood-looking tile over the concrete, and a big patch of turf. The spring/summer/fall heat is coming. 

Hmm...I could make a wooden bar out there. Or just buy an old wooden boat and call it good. 

But no, shade. Shade is what I need. A big canopy over the backyard, or maybe even the side and front of the house. 

Climate change is real, and in the land of the heat, the man with the shade is king. Maybe I'll contact some company and get a survey and quote, and then when it's much more money than I'm willing to spend, I can put this dream aside. Purchase a nice cheap sunhat. 

The gauzy curtains I hung up on the backyard patio are being slowly eaten by the puppies. What they could reach, anyway. About halfway torn. I do love the gauzy material waving in the wind. I'm getting ideas again. Such as mounting sails in the middle of the backyard. Or essentially a clothesline on poles to hang strips of waving cloth. When the wind blows, I can watch them wave.

I also like Tibetan prayer flags. The wind blows and when they flap it counts as a prayer, see? Now that's how you religion. Take note, Catholic school I went to for 2nd grade that made me pray the entire Rosary once a week. 

Music playing on my phone. Big Jet Plane by Angus and Julia Stone. Ambulance sirens wailing past the outside my office building. Sweat on the palms of my hands where they rest on the grey plastic of my laptop. A stubborn chunk of mango stuck in my tooth. The smell of a hoodie I've been wearing for two months while I sit in my office, not an unclean smell. I don't like smelling unclean.

Windows and walls. Every drop of rain is a world. 

There are arrows in the sky, pointing out directions we can't travel. 

There I wait, on that other shore, for your return. Wandering albatross cry overhead. I have a photograph of you; the only one was able to save from the fire. The light in the image is poor and I cannot see your face. It has been so long. The ocean froths around the pebbles at my feet. Am I remembering you, or the image of you?

* * * * *

My neck is a bit sore; maybe I slept too hard. 

I am left with the pain and the wondering.

It's bulk trash time! I hauled out the remains of the old bed, and the cracking green plastic patio furniture. Also put out an armoire. Around 2 in the morning, Marceline's frantic barking woke us. Someone was taking it. Oh, how I love bulk trash time. 

Would that I could place my troubles on that crumbling curb, to be hauled away by morning. But no; some other poor soul might mistake it for a treasure and attempt to shoulder it themselves. Best that I bear my own burdens; as indeed I gladly endured the pleasures in their pursuit.

Remembering the picture is better than not remembering at all.