Fugitive from justice obstacle course and where’s my damn hammer. LED ON!!!

It is Sunday, Jan 24, and my internet is down. I’m jotting this down in Word so I don’t forget. There isn’t much to recall, it was a rapidly fading dream about some kind of lengthy obstacle course designed to make me feel like a fugitive from justice. I was, in fact, going to be a witness to something or other, and this course was to give me a sense of what the defendant would have gone through. 

I and some other lady were traveling in the same direction and were in apparent competition to reach the end of the course, so we could determine who would be the first to testify. I had a healthy lead, but as such had to deal with all the obstacles first hand. 

First I took a runaway truck ramp which led nowhere and almost cost me my lead. I slid down the side of the hill rather than backtrack, and I maintained my advantage. 

Next there was a “hot lava” type of climbing game where we skirted a small bay by doing some caving style rock climbing, hand over hand around this semi-enclosed body of water which was grotto like in nature. The walls were damp, but the handholds were sufficient if one was very slow and methodical about it. 

 

I got to the next checkpoint first and met my uncle Steve. He was riding his motorcycle, which looked like it had seen better days. The fenders were all bent up and flapping around. He was only mildly concerned when I pointed this out to him. Apparently, where you were going was more important than how your ride looked when you got there. 

I kept that in mind as I fumbled to find a sewing machine which I felt would be a key to something or another. Sharon’s sewing machine was the preferred device, but I didn’t know of its exact location. Hannelore would know, but I didn’t know where to find her either. She was dead, after all, though I didn’t feel that should make a difference.

In related news, Sharon’s beloved LED is on and has been since Saturday. It blinked on briefly on Friday night when I was discussing chocolates with my psychic friend. She ate too much and was having a bad trip, for which I felt bad since I supplied her with them. The LED was only on for ½ a second, but I was on it like a bloodhound. 

The next morning I was excited to check it out. It would make my day if it was on, especially since I tend to like Saturdays more than your average day, because of you know what. So, I came downstairs, like a kid on Christmas day, and there it was! 

I was so glad that I ran over and kissed it. It bashfully blinked off. I was a bit chagrined and began to doubt the whole phenomenon all over again. I tapped it, talked to it, and finally gave up when it stayed off for the next few minutes. Since it is located behind the drumset, I sat down and played for a few minutes, hoping to conjure it back to life. No such luck. 

I went upstairs and cooked my breakfast, only partially disappointed. Perhaps there was a message still to be gleaned. “Don’t kiss the LED, it doesn’t like it?” I don’t know. I thought that I may have some severely grounding energy and that I’d been the soul-sucking vampire responsible for the light going out. Or not. It was back on when I came back down with my breakfast. 

I was excited to play my electric guitar, drink coffee and smoke weed. I do this every Saturday morning, rain or shine, LED or no. But this was going to be great, Sharon was going to indulge me by hanging around with me while I practiced my various lounge act songs for my repertoire. 

It turned out to be a long, moderately successful day in which I consumed too many carbs, got my gut muscles all in a knot from bad posture and slinging my heavy guitar. But I did have a few moments of peaceful enjoyment of some basic sensations, sitting on a chair in the backyard just chilling in the unseasonably warm, yet crisp air. 

I spent a good deal of time looking around for my tiny hammer. I really wanted to hang some pictures and I like using the hammer that is best suited for the job. I have three or four other hammers, but they will not do. It is the tiny hammer that ensures accuracy and besides, just where the fuck was my tiny hammer, anyway? 

I told myself, “Stop looking where it isn’t and look where it is for a change. Think like a tiny hammer, dammit.” 

 

I never did find it, but I did find a wedding picture of Sharon and I at the lighthouse out in the barn. It was forlorn and covered in cobwebs and ashes from the fire. I cleaned it up and discovered a bonus picture of me and Huckleberry as a puppy behind the wedding photo. I brought them into the house and hung the wedding picture in the hallway, as the long missing centerpiece between our 2002 vacation photo collages. It seems like it was supposed to be there all along.

Well, no internet means no family google meeting. I’m kind of relieved since I always feel like the odd man out in these conversations. With my luck it will pop back on right as I finish this and it is 9 o’clock on the dot.