#97 Yellow Vomit

I haven't been writing my blog because I have attempted to write a longer format story and was unsuccessful. It was about a girl named Susan who went to middle school with me and she had a prosthetic arm. Let's just say that I hit a wall.

I started a small writing group. It was me and one other person who had very limited experience writing but produced much more than I did. I was jealous of her, because she could have her work published and I am merely taking teeny weenie baby steps. So, I'm embracing my limitations and, like cool with being perpetually mediocre.

I had a dream that someone I was following on Instagram, who was making the most incredible protest signs, invited me to their home in Brooklyn. Like the Susan story, which maybe I will finish someday, I was a misfit. I fell asleep in her house and when I woke up (in the dream) I had a sore throat and had to find a cab back to Manhattan. She told me that she didn't know where the Williamsburg Bridge was, or how to get a cab back to Manhattan. I knew that she was lying to me because she had lived in Williamsburg almost 30 years and I wasn't sure why she was messing with me. What did I do? I liked her signs. Needless to say, the dream was a nightmare, yet when I left her home I found my way to a main artery with many cabs willing to get me back to Manhattan.

I had a credit card, so I would be okay.

My nephew was wearing a beautiful, tailored shirt. He was sitting in the back seat of a car and he warned us all that he might be carsick. We pulled over and he got out and threw up a pond of yellow vomit. If it was freezing, there was so much of it we could've gone skating on the vomit. It was golden and swirly. He felt better after he threw up and I was glad because I love him.

Don't think that the dream didn't hold any significance. It did. This new president is like a stomach virus that doesn't give you a break. I don't care what your politics are- face it- we are on the Hell Hole at Coney Island and this ride won't stop. I would never ride the Hell Hole because I am preternaturally frightened of rides, but can really go on the ride in my imagination, which sucks.

I love my country and wish you all well. I hope that democracy prevails. I'm not interested in WWIII.