While many people around us had to suffer through flooding, power outages, and loss of heat, we somehow avoided those bombs. Or, to quote another weapon-oriented phrase used by my bf (Boy Friend, Best Friend, Bomb deFuser) Michael: “We dodged a bullet, baby.”
Want to see some photos from yesterday and guess which one was not taken by me? Bombs away!
Here’s what happens when you search YouTube for “Trevor Noah bomb”:
Boom!
Gratitude incoming for all those who helped me write this post and — of course! — to you, no matter what bombs you’re dealing with today.
Because dreams are so important to me, I’ve written several posts about dreams (including here, here, here, here, here, here, and here) since I started dreaming this blog. When I look at those previous dreamy posts, I realize I wrote each one never dreaming we’d have the U.S. President we have today.
Last night, I woke up in the middle of the night from a very scary dream where morphing people and frightening creatures were staring me in the face and grasping me by the hand. I immediately posted on Facebook:
I was having a bad dream and just woke up to another bad dream.
My friend Marc Zegans soon replied with this dream of a comment:
Before I had those dreams, I spent yesterday looking at a possible dream house for me and my dreamy boyfriend Michael with our dream of a real estate agent, Jane C. Hoffmann.
While I was taking photos of Jane, she was also taking photos of me and Michael (which was probably a nightmare for him, since he hates to have his picture taken).
Today, we might make an offer on a dreamy house by the sea in Quincy, Massachusetts. If we don’t end up in that dream house, we’ll end up in another one.
In four days, I’ll be turning 64 years old, an age nobody ever dreamed I’d reach when I was born in 1953 with a very unusual heart.
I shall now look to all the other dreamy photos I took yesterday for ideas about how to live and dream in the future:
I trust you know I have the intelligence and integrity to express my thanks to all who helped me create this dream of a post and to you — of course! — for your dream of a visit, here and now.
I don’t want to break confidentiality, so I won’t identify the person in therapy yesterday who expressed frustration with a family member who tells others what they want, don’t want, or otherwise experience.
I don’t want to brag, but two years ago I made a t-shirt that says, “The Expert on My Own Experience.” I don’t want to give that t-shirt away, but I think my therapy patient could use that t-shirt, especially when dealing with that opinionated family member.
I don’t want to be too negative about the near future, but I posted this on Facebook last night:
I survived open heart surgery, but how will my heart survive the next four years?
You don’t want to miss all my photos from yesterday:
You don’t want to pay $20,078.33 for heart surgery, especially when that charge is the result of somebody entering the wrong diagnostic code.
You don’t want to live on Nathan Lane, because that would be uncomfortable for both of you.
You don’t want to leave a comment for this post? That’s okay, too.
You don’t want to go too long without expressing gratitude, so I want to thank everyone who helped me create this post and you — of course! — for wanting to visit here, now.