I had a McDonald's dream. The last one must have been a little over ten years ago, as I vaguely recall having one at about the time I began my blogging life. I am sent to clean the restroom, and I take to it rather heartily. (Oddly, but very dream-like, I am naked tying on an apron in the restroom.) It is a job that needs doing and I do it, like I am a capable and proud professional, whose profession just happens to be in fast food labor, with perhaps a specialty in cleaning toilets. Interestingly, as if to sweeten this menial dream, Jena is in it, the sexy smart-talking girl from my blogging life. (With the girl, I seem to magically acquire my clothes. It's not going to be that kind of dream.) She appears to be kind of rookie-ish, and I lead her into the wondrous world of mopping, as we take to cleaning the basement, which seems to have sprung a leak, as it is badly flooded. (This reminds me of a real episode, except at least there isn't a lot of spilled shit involved.) It's obvious that I like her in a schoolboy-crushy kind of way, and she seems to like me, or maybe she just likes the way that I like her, but we keep it kind of buried, as though it would be unprofessional to get carried away romantically on the job.
Pop left with Kay this morning to attend his high-school class reunion in Shiner. Could this be why I had that McDonald's dream? It correlates to my own last high-school years. I was a ghost in my school and had no friends. Still, I would not mind wandering unnoticed through my class's reunion. It has been a little over thirty years. I am curious to see how they look now at around fifty years old. Maybe they could mistake me for the janitor, which would not be much of a stretch from the old days.
Having the house to myself, I splurge in renting the movie "Kingsman: The Secret Service" I am about halfway through it, and I can see that there must be better ways to blow seven dollars. In the movie trailers they showed the admittedly fantastic James Bond type action scenes, but they did now show how they are framing it in comical farce. It kind of ruins it for me. I wanted to enjoy the fantasy of the spy who plays with fire but never gets very seriously burned; I did not want to satirically intellectualize anything. The movie is not terrible though, and I will finish it, watch what action sequences the movie has to offer, a ballet of bullets, an opera of fistfights, a silly farce.
A little better, I am also in the middle of knocking out that shave that I have been meaning to get to. At least I will have accomplished something real today. Another reading session is shot to hell, though.
I can wish for a more socially meaningful life, but I think I should just enjoy these easy, empty days. For me, these are the good times, and they are not going to last too much longer. Pop grows feebler by the day, and even if he had another fifty good years, my own health is only barely creeping along.
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