Fair warning, this is about a dream. "Other peoples' dreams are boring," so skip it if you want.
In the dream I was maybe 15 and my family had moved into a house that had been occupied by an old man. He'd passed on and we were moving into the place as he'd left it.
While looking around, I found--tacked to a bulletin board and partly obscured by items in front of them--a couple of nude pictures of his daughter when she was younger (not sure how old but in the picture she was approximately my age). Being a teenager, I wanted to study at least one of them, so I moved stuff and tried to take them, but as I was about to secure my prize one of my parents came into the room and I had to let the obscuring items hide them again. Then, when my parent left, the pictures were gone.
Tried to find them and kept being thwarted; dropped one of the obscuring items and crouched to pick it up and found one of the two pictures on the floor. (The other one had vanished entirely.) Mom came back into the room so I hastily stuffed the picture into my coat, a piece breaking off of it, and put the obscuring article back on the bulletin board.
Having secured my prize, I tried to return to my room (which was suddenly my bedroom as it was when I was 15, here in the bunker) to look it over. I thought I'd have a shower so I tried to get that going, but although Mom had left for work, she abruptly came home again, and this happened, and that happened.
Something else happened and the picture lost another piece, and then I was left in the parking lot of a restaurant by my family--my brother was driving and not listening to me yell after him as he drove off--and then I had to go to the flight point (too much WoW?) to get where I was going, and while I was flying off another piece of the picture broke off and fell to the ground, far below, and I got frustrated and decided I'd just rip the fucking thing to shreds once I'd landed....
It's like, this is a dream, generated entirely by my subconscious, and apparently my subconscious delights in being frustrated. What the fuck.
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Well, this explains why I've been seeing Kansas City Southern locomotives moving rolling stock on the CP line that passes by the plant.
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Made chicken and dumplings in the crock pot last night. I'm not sure which recipe, it was one Mrs. Fungus found and copied down by hand, but it came out delicious. For "dumplings" you take canned biscuit dough, roll the biscuits out flat, and cut 'em into strips, then lay the dough strips on top of the liquid in the pot.
The crock pot is full of food, even after we each had healthy servings of the stuff for dinner last night and after I took a sizable portion for my lunch.
The really odd thing is that the sauce is salty but the chicken itself is not. "Sauce." Gravy? It's basically one can each of cream of chicken soup, and cream of celery soup, plus two cups of chicken broth, so I don't know how you could call it gravy, but it's not really sauce either.
Anyway there are a bunch of recipes on-line for slow-cooker chicken and dumplings, and I'd bet they're all approximately the same.
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I still think CitiGroup got what it deserved here. I used to support big business, but having discovered that high finance is basically legalized robbery, I prefer to see them get it in the shorts.
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It's okay, the suicides were counted as COVID deaths. Like nearly every other fatality over the past year.
Basically, you take impressionable children and deluge them with horror stories about how the world is ending because of the Wuhan Flu--how do you think they're going to react when they see all the adults panicking over a virus?
There are all too many adults out there who seem to think that catching COVID-19 is an automatic death sentence, when it's not, and because that's how the media is presenting all of this, the kids are getting the wrong idea.
And further? Adults and children experience time differently. I'm in my fifties, and I look at this as, "Well, that was a cruddy year." The older you get, the faster time seems to pass, because you've experienced so much of it. But when you're fifteen--or younger!--a year feels like forever. I mean, I remember that when I was a kid, the last week before Christmas Eve took forever, but these days it's like I blink after Halloween and suddenly I'm carving the Christmas turkey.
The idea of being unable to do anything outside the house for a year sounds fine to me, but I'm a cranky fifty-odd-year-old misanthrope who vastly prefers to do business via on-line chats and emails and such. Kids need social interaction with their peers, and they need to go outside and run around and do things.
Keeping them cooped up due to a disease which won't even touch 99.997%+ of them is wrong. And I do believe that the people responsible for this idiocy need to be taken to task for it. Sadly, I don't think they will.
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Anyway, speaking of going outside--
The Jeep has been making a rattle on acceleration which is, at best, embarassing, and I get to get a look at it. 90% chance it's something in the exhaust--some loose bit or something--so I want to stick my nose under the truck and have a gander. I've also got to tap a bit of trim back into place on Mrs. Fungus' car; the incident where she backed over the trash barrel left a bumper tab sticking out and although one of the women she works with is handy enough to push it back into place for her, it keeps popping loose--usually when my wife is at work--so I need to have a look at it myself. Especially since this time it popped loose at home.
And it's low 60s today and sunny. So, good weather to get a look at things. And I finished my bowl of chicken and dumplings, so I guess I'd better get a move on.