Since I had nothing about which I felt compelled to write yesterday, I wrote nothing. I sat in front of the TV and watched old reruns of long-ago memorized sitcoms: The West Wing, The Sopranos, Bewitched, Cheers, Becker, and the like.
And I felt guilt-ridden all the day long and into the night about not having written anything in the blog. Which is damnably stupid since so few readers follow my blog entries. There are only two who report that they are 'faithful' readers and a couple more occasional visitors that I am aware of.
And that makes perfect sense. After all, it is not deathless prose I am creating each morning. It is no more than random bits of petty prattle. I know that. And yet I persevere.
I wonder why?
Last night I slept from 10 till 3:30 then read for a half-hour from
before slipping back into a restless doze. And I had a dream. Not really much of a dream. It consisted of only a single scene, one in which I and my foreman labored together in the shipping department of a manufacturing plant.
We were using electric drills and long fat screws to close up a large wooden crate. Only the two of us were aware of the additional piece of equipment that had been activated and placed within the heavily shielded crate.
We finished and the crate was then loaded into an eighteen-wheeled semi-truck that would haul it to a waiting 'container' which would then be loaded onto a rusting but still seaworthy ship soon to be bound for a foreign land.
The foreman turned to me, smiled, wiped his oily hands on a clean rag, and said, "You're fired."
Two heavily-muscled workers with often broken noses and cauliflower-ears appeared to escort me to the office. And that's when I woke up.
I seldom remember my dreams. I remember this one, though. Don't know why.
A friend, Anthony V. Toscano, informed me that he has begun a blogspot blog. I read his first entry a few minutes ago. It can be found at Spilled Beans and I recommend it to you.