I dreamed in hyper-colored Castlevania this morning; I am somewhat surprised to find the sky blue instead of blood-colored. I also still have Feel It Still running through my head. The earworms are all but constant nowadays.
It doesn’t matter. I have coffee, the Prince is embarked on his last year of high school, and it’s a pleasant morning even though the sun’s out. I’m sure it’ll be sweaty later on today, so I’d best hurry if I don’t want to expire of heat-related illness during the morning’s run.
Still, it’s nice to absorb my coffee in something like leisure. I’m just so relieved the local school district isn’t forcing children into the equivalent of plague pits. They are providing meals and as much daycare as they can, too–an illustration of a district doing things right, for once.
I’m trying to treat the earworm with other things–a-ha’s Take on Me, for example–but so far, Feel It Still is the reigning champion. If I have to pull out Toto’s Africa it’s going to be even more interesting inside my skull.
I’m a little discombobulated from the Castlevania dream, to tell the truth. It was very vivid, down to the smell of sere dust as I walked through a dead wasteland towards a giant castle. The forest smelled better, but it was full of ice-demons, and the trees kept exploding.
It was kind of a loud dream, too, come to think of it. I’m not sure why; my bedroom window was closed and the dogs rarely snore that loudly.
Anyway, the coffee dregs need to be chewed, the dogs need walking, sunscreen needs slathering and a run needs to happen. Then it’s all epic fantasy, all the time, until it’s done. I am through messing about with this book; I don’t care how many times I have to stab it. It’s going down.
It could be the combination of earworm and vivid dreaming is just a sign my creative engine has reached the proper pressure and is ready to propel me forward. It would be nice to think I have enough energy again. Apparently even pandemic and fascist coup can’t keep me down for long; the words, like the spice, must flow. I’m sure I’ll overwork today and wake up exhausted tomorrow. Apparently I possess zero chill, but then, nobody around here is much surprised by that.
Tuesday approacheth. Time to pick the coffee dregs out of my teeth and get going. Books don’t write themselves, more’s the pity.
Enjoy your day, dear ones. The name of the game is survival, and if you’re reading this, we’ve won for the moment. Might as well celebrate it.
We might not get another chance. And with that wonderfully affirming and not at all pessimistic thought, I’m off to the races.