Have I finally lost it?

The reason I am questioning my sanity is that last night's dream was weirder than anything I've dreamed in a long time. I never knew how I got into the situation, but somehow I landed up on a large Russian naval ship and had an affair with Vladimir Putin.

Nothing made sense. I don't know why I was on the ship, or where we were.  It seemed at times that we were not ocean cruising; it felt more like a river.

The entire ship was dark gray - walls, floors, etc - with hardly any windows.  But during one part of the dream I noticed that there were some actual tourists being served breakfast in a dark gray dining area. Many doughnuts were passed out. I think a younger version of my mother was one of the tourists.

I am not sure how I ended up with Putin one evening, but the sex was really good and he did not depart my room until the morning, and brought me coffee. And he actually took me out on a date of sorts that day. We made it to shore and visited a pretty meadow. He walked around identifying local flora for me. He was wearing a dark red shirt that suited him. We had a chat and I talked about my real-time plans for a facelift, and he assured me that there was little a physician could do to enhance my beauty. (His English was a bit trite at times, but he didn't make grammatical mistakes.)

Later, back on the ship, he showed off a bit, demonstrating to me how the military rescued anyone who managed to fall overboard. This happened because someone actually did fall overboard during my lesson, although when I fished them out after Putin's tutelage, the sailor looked no worse for wear. Just damp.

If any readers care to comment on my pending insanity, feel free.

Realtor? Jerkwad? The decision is yours.

Back when I worked in ad agencies, we were always wary of new clients, especially the smaller ones.  This is because one big mistake they make is that they think we are in the business of telling the world how great they are, when we would really rather talk about their products and services. 

Even at my current job, there are a few loan officers who insist I talk about their college educations, wealthy upbringing and perfect teeth in their press ads. 

While driving to East Texas last weekend, I spotted an annoying local real estate agent who has decided to expand his narcissistic series of billboards to the sticks.  We see him - his name is Rogers Healy - together with the message HOWDY, EAST TEXAS.

I wonder who thought that up? It's not original, and since I spent 10 years in East Texas, I thought it vaguely insulting. It's like he thinks we're all peckerwoods, or perhaps members of the Clampett family, so he needs to speak our lingo. 

While I didn't photograph the offending sign - it's hard to do this while driving 70 mph - I did find one of his other, slightly less offensive billboards. But why blow up your mug shot so large? And when will this guy learn that stubble has been out of fashion for several years?

 The billboards most probably won't be going away any time soon, because Rogers (I keep wanting to spell it Roger) thinks they work. Two years ago, he made this claim in an interview for a local magazine:

The billboards have been great. Marketing is our strongest suit,” says Healy, the 36-year-old founder of Rogers Healy and Associates Real Estate and several other companies. “People recognize our logo, our face, our colors.

If marketing really was his strongest suit, he'd stop mixing up so many fonts in his ads. Readers actually have a subconscious aversion to reading things composed in Font Soup. I counted four different fonts in the billboard alone.

Goodbye and good luck

The powers that be at Medicaid have finally decided they have no claim on my mother's property, so I'll be able to close the sale of the house next week. 

While this is an enormous relief, I strongly suspect it also signals the end of any relationship I have with my brothers. Our mother's needs, and later her estate, have been our only shared topics of conversation for a long time now. I don't like the older brother's wife and my younger brother works nights, and both live over 120 miles from my current home.

Now I can begin to attack the other things that keep me in Texas.

2019

Anyone who reads this blog may have already come to the conclusion that I dwell on the past way too much. I've begun to feel that way in real life, so I'm spending more waking time doing things that will expedite my leaving Texas.

This did not stop me from having a dream about Cincinnati* last night. I was riding a motorcycle with others when I somehow happened upon Cincinnati and a couple of others (perhaps his fraternal twin brother) playing hockey. Although the situation is initially the same as it is in real life, we keep trying to look at one other without the other noticing. This eventually fails and we begin to talk.

Eventually we end up at my old house, except it doesn't look like my old house. This one is as old or older than my 1925 bungalow, but it's two stories high and resembles an expensive library. Sort of like this photo.

I tell him that I had really hoped to keep the house so we could have eventually made it our home, and he looks at me as if all of his feelings for me had returned, and he understood why I had appeared distant for so long.

The dream did take an odd digression. We go to a house that belongs to my friend Elizabeth*, and I show him a secret entrance that I had recently discovered. Neither Elizabeth or anyone else in her family had ever found it. I also show him her impressive collection of antiques.

But back to 2019. I have finally begun to take decluttering seriously. Let's just say I'm glad I have a truck.

* See The Usual Suspects.

wills and cousins and Amazon Prime

After some thought, I eventually decided to rewrite my will to leave my fortune to my two nieces.

We get on well, they send me birthday cards, and they both have children that will need money for various stuff.  Chances are I won't die in time to put them through college but perhaps I can help their parents pay off student debt.

My family members continue to decrease. Saturday I received a call from an aunt, telling me that my cousin in Tennessee had died of an aneurysm. Rusty was only 62; he had sat down for dinner Friday evening, complained of a sudden headache and collapsed seconds later. By the time he reached the hospital he was gone, although he was put on a ventilator for 24 hours so the staff couldn't say they didn't try.

There were some possibly contributing factors - a bad car accident and some bad drug use when he was in his 30s, plus his current moonshine business - but it's still a shock.

Since my Macbook Pro is eight years old and not functioning with the latest operating system, I decided to check out Amazon Prime day to see if there were any deals to be had for a cheaper Macbook Air. But there are so many others also hunting for deals that the site's not working properly. 

At least my cat the Honey Badger came home after a 10-day disappearance. So the news isn't all bad.