ismo

Yesterday, I attended a birthday gathering for Calaveras, and when I got home I was too tired to post anything. This morning, I was congested and coughing, and didn't feel suitable for visiting a bunch of vulnerable old people. I texted Madame's friend group and canceled. I felt bad about missing another date with her, but I just wasn't up for it. I was happy to hear later that another friend stopped by and had lunch with her in the bistro. Slightly miffed, though, to hear that Madame had pumpkin pie with her! Last week, when I suggested pie, she firmly rejected it. She can be fickle.

I almost immediately received a phone call from CeeSquared in Minnesota. Her voice mail informed me firmly that she had had a wonderful dream and simply MUST share it with me. Well, I wasn't going to turn down a fellow dreamer. It was quite a marvelous dream, and I enjoyed hearing it, but unfortunately, when I said "You should write that down!" she responded, "I was hoping that YOU would do that." Oh dear me. This is one of the deadly perils of being a writer. People you love sometimes are inspired to believe that you can make their vision real. I'm not sure anyone can do justice to another person's dream. I suggested that she create a voice memo or some other recorded version and send it to me, since I wouldn't be able to remember all the details properly. Certainly, this dream COULD become a marvelous story. Whether I am the person who could make that happen is another question entirely.

Then I staggered off and took a shower and made myself presentable, though for what I am not sure, since I didn't go anywhere. I've occupied myself with various trivial tasks that I was still glad to get done. I received various texts in the course of the day, informing me of two more deaths and another person in hospice. Mortality seems to be a theme in the month of November. It's not helping me. I found myself thinking of my beloved dead entirely too much. I need to change the subject.