Last night, I went over to visit some new friends, Lee and Jeff, at their home tiki bar. It was pretty neat. Sort of a classical (for Phoenix/Tempe) mid-century home, and they had made a backyard bar that had a porthole with video of different beach scenes, a smoking tiki carving with light-up eyes, and also dynamic lighting and a rain effect.

Pretty neat stuff.

Now I have a head full of ideas to do to the house. Then I think, oh wait, that's money. And there's all kinds of supply shortages and price gouging right now. So I don't need to rush anything. I'm going to water my bamboo and see what materials I can grow from that.

Ah yes, and I'm going to try to listen to more music. Let it soak into my brain. It's good for me. 

Still feeling uneven, like a ship on a choppy sea. Not entirely unpleasant, just noticeable. A larger issue in my life, my unstable internet connection, was resolved and now I'm less irritated overall. 

I dreamed of Watson the dog. In my dream, he just trots up like it's no big deal. I say to him, "Hey! You're dead!" Watson gives me a bored look. I say, "Okay, get over here and get your pets." And I pet him.

Dreams like that are puzzling because I want to believe that my self-aware ego is frolicking in my mental playground, it's also entirely possible that I was just dreaming that I knew I was dreaming. Noted, and now I'm moving on.

So very uneven.

Had a great time at Tiki Oasis 2021. Definitely want to go again next year. Met a lot of great people, especially our new favorite Indianapolitans, Bianca and Kobe. Picked up some really cool art for the walls too.

The atmosphere itself was pleasant. We had a room there, so we could wander about with all the convenience of snacks, drinks, and non-public restrooms close at hand. Which was good, because after the first night, my stomach was upset. 

I met a lot of neat people. Tiki enthusiasm cuts a wide swath through many other interests. I met people who had been to the very first San Diego Comic Con, and we swapped stories about the good old days (my first Comic-Con was 2002, when you could still get into panels without waiting in line days before) and man, I forget his name, but we talked about chatting with Ray Bradbury and he said good old Ray sent him a birthday card every year.

I met so many people I hope to see again. Judy and Kevin (from Vegas), and Lee and Jeff (from AZ) and Dave and Chris and Matt, oh, and Camilla. Camilla and Chris were my partners in witty banter. We should get ourselves a podcast. 

I'm still pretty out of it. I don't drink very often these days, and I can't remember the last time I drank two nights in a row. Oh wait, Vegas. Chris and Mishea's wedding. So over a year. I did my walking yesterday and it went okay. The lack of structure was good for me, I think, but it's time to get back to my routine. 

Ah, the last day of work before a short vacation. Lots to accomplish. Yup yup, much to do. 

And now I must shine my shoes. Very important. And dust my fez.

Grocery shopping must be done. Must obtain snacks. 

How am I feeling today? Pretty good, I think. I slept okay. Lots of dreams I don't remember.

I smell clean. That's important to me. 

My mind is elsewhere. Don't be there, mind. I guess you don't have to be here, but don't be there. 

Does posture even matter anymore? Can I lie perpendicular to my laptop, twisted over and typing? 

Better not try it. Not for too long anyway.

There is much to be done. Tiki-Con is this weekend! I've got to pick out something to go with my fez. I'm thinking...all black. I think I'll need to carry around an Erlenmeyer flask filled with smoking green liquid. 

The twins are going to be watching the house and the pups. Hopefully watering the bamboo. 

They better water the dang bamboo. We're still in the critical phase here. I think. Mostly I don't understand how anything works, and am constantly min-boggled when anything works at all.

The depression looms larger. I puff myself up, like a puff adder, or a pufferfish, so that I appear even larger. I just learned that most species of snake only have one working lung, usually the right. 

I have more tips about writer's block: Try to write the worst sentence ever. Like "He crossed the room." But make it more like "Bedecked in jangling trinkets, the man galumphed breathlessly across the foyer and up the flight of stairs to his hotel room. Halfway up, he paused to fan himself furiously with a palm leaf he had torn from one of the decorative brass urns at the entrance. He then glanced about in a theatrically furtive way, and realizing the other guests were avoiding any eye contact, resumed his climb."

And of course, he gets one of our terrible names. Hmm... Dropsy Oafpepper.

Yes, that should do it.

Do what, you say? I don't remember. 

Busy day at the office. Missed my first break. Had a bunch of compliance stuff to take care of. It was good though. Some things I didn't really know how to do, so I had to remind myself that this is what it's like to be a kid when you're constantly being instructed to do things that you've never done before, and then of course the adults get mad because they're not doing it exactly the way the adults would prefer, so how would I do now, if I were a kid?

Decently, it seems. 

Now I need to take that attitude back into the warehouse here and finish up that stuff I probably should have done last week. I've worked warehouse jobs before, so this is more of re-awakening of old skills. None of this stuff even requires a fork lift.

Easy.

The bamboo was planted in our backyard on Saturday. I hope it survives. I enjoy the way it sways in the breeze.