Yesterday I said that I used to rarely remember my dreams. In fact, I would tell people I never dream, although I know the truth is everyone does. Mine were just wasted because I couldn’t remember them at all.

Last night was the second night in a row I dreamed Donald Trump wins the election. I know the polls look good and the lines are a good sign, but they keep on coming.

In last nights dream, immediately after the election Maurice and I got in a fight. I was packing up to get ready to move to Uruguay as soon as their borders open. He kept telling me I was being foolish and we weren’t ready. Granted, I was younger then, but I remember when I packed up as much of my belongings as I could into a tiny Fiero and moved 1,200 miles away from home. I even had my cat in a box crammed in the tiny space among all the boxes stacked on the passenger seat. There were a lot of bad things that occurred during the drive, and it was a fiasco when I made it to Omaha and my apartment wasn’t ready for moving in.

I loved every second of it.

I know most people would not have enjoyed that experience and would be especially hesitant to do the same when they’re 57 years old, but it sounds like a lot of fun to me. In addition, if the election does turn sour, I’m going to be one of the cowards who doesn’t want to stand up and fight. I’m going to throw up my hands and get the hell out of here. I make no apologies.

Maurice agrees it will be time, but not as quick to react as I am. Hopefully, Trump does lose or it’s going to be a major contention between the two of us.

By the way, in the dream, immediately after the election, he declares himself emperor with the backing of his party and the supreme court. Granted, that may be over the top, but it shows how I feel about the guy.

Infuriating Continuity

Here’s a super quick update regarding issues with The Walking Dead that have me fuming now. Yesterday, I pointed out in the first season of the show our heroes had to cover themselves with zombie guts so their smell wouldn’t trigger the zombies into knowing they’re alive.

I then pointed out at the end of season nine, there’s a group of people called The Whisperers who wear dead zombie skin on their faces, but do nothing to cover their scent. Their scent should be detected.

I watched an episode of season ten last night that was a double whammy in one episode. First, one of the protagonists, Daryl, has a herd of zombies coming toward him. He cuts open a zombie next to him and smears its blood all over himself and hides behind a tree. You guessed it, the zombies don’t recognize him and walk right past him. Okay, this is more in line with what we saw in the first season. THEN, it really gets bad.

There’s the guy who is trying to join The Whisperers. I think he’s trying to infiltrate them so he can double cross them. For this commentary, it doesn’t really matter why. As usual, The Whisperers are wearing the zombie skin on their faces and shuffling along undetected by the zombies. In the meantime, this guy is walking in the middle of them all telling one of their leaders he wants to join the group. So now, we have a man who is not covered in zombie guts, he’s not wearing dead skin on his face, and he’s talking incessantly, as he always does. Do the zombies detect him? Hell no! I guess there must be a magic field around The Whisperers that protects him. It’s lame, but there’s no other excuse. I’m probably boring all of you who aren’t Walking Dead fans, but this applies to any kind of storytelling. You can’t change established rules simply to make it easier to write a particular story arc. It’s so basic and you just don’t do it! I can only imagine the horrible Amazon reviews I would get if I tried to pull that kind of nonsense in a novel.

The Psychiatrist

I had my scheduled Zoom call with my psychiatrist this morning. As expected, she was as nutty as ever. Last month she told me to take three pills a day of one of my meds. Today when we went over my meds, I told her I was taking three of them and it upset her. “Why are you doing that?” I told her it was because she told me to. Her response was, “I would never tell you to do that.” (Major sigh) So, we ended our five minute session with us agreeing that I’d only take two pills a day, but can only switch it up when it was absolutely necessary.

I can’t wait until I’m done with her.

Being Baggy

Yesterday, on Facebook, I complained that I lost so much weight that my clothes don’t fit me. My pants keep dropping off me even when I wear a belt. I received little sympathy. I explained I didn’t want to buy new clothes now and then buy more new ones after losing more weight. At least not until I lost ten more pounds.

The group was unanimous that I need to buy clothes now.

Maurice read my post late last night and came in to give me the evil eye because he keeps telling me to shut up and buy some clothes. He said Goodwill has reopened and we will be going there this weekend. I need to find cheap clothes to fit me until I need more when I reach my goal weight.

I’m not your stereotypical gay man. I don’t like shopping. Maybe if I was a skinny little early 20s twink boy, I’d love shopping for shiny, tight dance outfits at one of the shops in West Hollywood, but I don’t think I’ll start buying those at my age.

Gearing Up For Next Month

November is a few days away, which means I’m getting close to NaNoWriMo. For those who didn’t see my previous post, that stands for National Novel Writer’s Month. They should change the name since it’s no longer national. With 455,000 participants last year its gone global.

The goal is to write 50,000 words in a month, so I need to be prepared and that’s going well. My outline and other necessities are coming along fine. I don’t think I’ll have a series bible done, as I said I would, to avoid continuity errors like the ones I listed above on The Walking Dead. I’ll be okay. The funny thing is, I’m not nervous at all. I’m excited as hell.

With that being said, I’m running very late today. It’s time for lunch and then back to getting my novel in shape. Remember this. If the zombies are coming at you and you don’t have zombie blood or guts to smear on yourself, don’t worry. There’s a good chance they won’t notice you anyway.