A weird mood and a flat tire

Right now I’m outside with Bo, but I’m going to go put some leftovers in the oven. I really dislike reheating food in the microwave. I have limited need of a microwave, period.

It’s not even chilly out here. Thank God , it’s not hot, though. I think last year’s Thanksgiving was hot.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, if you celebrate, I hope you had a good one.

I’m heating up leftover ham, mac-n-cheese and greenbean casserole. We have a ton of leftovers. This meal is my, “linner,” or “dunch.” I’ve postponed eating most of the day because I’ve been a slug hanging out in my room. I’m sure it’s not good for my hypoglycemia.

I’m just in a weird mood, and feel like doing nothing. I’m probably melancholy over this being my last weekend off, at least, rhetorically. I sense a paperwork snafu surfacing.

I got up at 8:30 and hung out in bed, dozing here and there. Man, I had some weird dreams. In the last one, I got stuck at this hotel surrounded by a bunch of stuff with some hoarders. I had to pick through all this junk to find my own stuff. Then I had to find some kind of cart to take it down to my car. Yes, I had a car!

So, I went searching through his vast hotel, and all I could find was a Publix shopping cart (yeah, no shock there) that I brought back to the room, which was more like an office; it wasn’t a guest’s room.

I found that no one was there but me. They’d left while I went looking for a cart. I got my stuff into the cart and went to go out the door of the room. Until then the room had no obvious doors of any kind. When I tried to turn the knob, I found the door was locked. Shit, I thought, how am going to get out of here? Then, I looked to my right, and like magic, there was a roll-up garage door (yeah, I ain’t kidding). I thought, well, these are usually easy to break into or out of.

So, I went to try and do that only to find that it wasn’t even locked. I thought, oh what a bunch of idiots not locking both doors. I pushed the door open and shoved my cart through.

I took an elevator downstairs and found the the hotel lobby was busy with guests checking in. I pushed my cart out the front doors and found my car parallel parked at the curb. I unlocked it and put my stuff in it, got in and drove away.

I don’t even know what kind of car it was. I remember it had no paint, just primer, so it was matte gray. And the tires were those big knobby snow tires that are common in the winter in snowy states. It was sunny and no snow was in the area.

All of a sudden, I heard a popping noise and looked out the window. My front driver’s side tire was flat. “Fuck!” I yelled. Apparently, in my sleep I still have a potty-mouth.

It wasn’t flat, but it sure was stuck in the South Dakota mud. June 8th, 1992. Towing our VW Fox from Tampa to Portland during our move to The Rose City.

For some reason, I had to get away from that place I was in. I was desperate to get away (Hmm, I think it represented my current apartment), so I kept driving, even faster.

Finally, I found a fire station and I turned in there. I found some guy who told me someone could change my tire. I think my brain mixed up fire station and Firestone, as in Firestone Tires.

The notes I wrote on the back of the photo above. When we arrived in Oregon, I made a huge phot scrapbook of our move across the country.

Some guy came over to put on a new tire and that’s when I woke up and had to tinkle.

My leftovers are hot. I’m going to chow.

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