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Spate of new-ish programming lately that’s kept me powering through the interminably repetitive weeks: From is back and as abstruse as ever; Matt U. assured me there’s a supernatural component to Yellowjackets, so I gave in to see what all the hoopla is about; Mrs. Davis, Damon Lindelof’s latest romp, about an omnipresent AI that is actually hardly around; Rabbit Hole, which really should’ve gone where its title suggests but instead seems like a worse version of Mrs. Davis; and the superior spy show with the MI5 rejects in “Slough House.” Gary Oldham’s Jackson Lamb is the freshest character I’ve seen in some time.

Apple’s been picking some winners lately, so I gave Silo a shot, and the scene with Rebecca Ferguson climbing toward answers at the end of the second episode must’ve led me to a dead end in a neighborhood completely sealed off by connected buildings, some businesses like a coin laundry, most of the others residential. The cul-de-sac didn’t appear to have any exit than the way I came, until I spotted what looked like one on the third floor up a mesh ladder, followed by the traditional kind from the second level. Surprisingly no fear of heights. An Indian woman called for her boys Xavier and Shervin, neither of which I recognized as Hindi names. A prominent radio antennae stood on the roof.

I’ve been tracking my sleep with the app religiously for the month now, and while I got the impression it had a pretty good handle on my REM, last night’s series doesn’t seem properly reflected in the breakdown. I could’ve sworn I returned at least thrice to the same class or group of people after waking, the first in such an agitated state, alas, with no recollection of its cause, that I was certain my heartrate would have spiked. And perhaps it’s only more evidence of the time dilation that occurs in dreams, but my last outing, where I fearlessly ascended a wall by hand-screwed bolts (a premonition of or motivation for finally assembling my “걸쳐 culture” rack), definitely felt longer than the three minutes recorded.

I could’ve sworn my welcome lurid dream happened after waking at three, though that would mean it awkwardly segued into my later holiday-themed one in an office, it was dark, later in the evening, and as we all headed for the exit, our bubbly Kelly Kapoor became decorated with firefly-like lights slowly falling from above. Everyone cheered as they received their own shower of special effects—me, however, mine was but a trickle in comparison to the others, and I thought maybe that was because I remained preoccupied with the stupid job and didn’t share in their wonder, their laughter, nor embody the same joyous spirit that flourishes in the human heart and connects us all. I probably should have, considering I had finally gotten some earlier.

Luckily the 6-year-old X is still compatible with the newer watch to track yet more information from my heartrate, whose accuracy I can really only gauge from recognition of my dreaming state immediately upon waking. Earlier this morning we were on a plane (just having completed our Spring Break trip), when I noticed, from a view up front and not through a tiny window above the wing, that it was flying far too low and would need quite the pull to avoid the oncoming buildings. Instead, however, the captain made the audacious decision to land with no nearby airport, careening first through a chain-link fence, of which I knew lesser vehicles were capable, but the brick wall that followed, that left only our cabin intact. Apparently there was a medical emergency onboard that prioritized this reckless act above the safety of all the passengers, though one Black woman with a cancer-stricken daughter didn’t think so. Don’t remember much of anything from my return to REM sleep later except that a news broadcast referenced the crash.

Not really much in the way of plot, but surprisingly deft driving on my part this morning, as I’m typically scraping costly side panels or running off a cliff entirely. (I recently shared with Ailee my intention to do the latter in the Seven once dementia sets in, or depending upon the clean-up cost to the family, opt for the Michael Mann ending.) Oncoming were dog-shaped robots several stories tall, and I had to swerve at high speed to avoid their legs. After half a dozen of them, I spun around and activated my secret transformation into a well-armed mech!

It’s not seldom I revisit my MMORPG stomping grounds; I probably got further in Guild Wars, alts, legendaries, and more recently but everything came without nearly as much hardship in comparison that I remember it less.
I was late logging in, but the program was smart enough to put me with my teammates when my avatar stepped through the portal and just like that, we were in the thick of battle with the enemy! It seemed premature, but I let loose a special ability that sent out a barrage of ghost-like fireballs in a cone-shaped pattern (surely taken from one game or another over the many years) and luckily I was lined up correctly with my target for it to be effective. Immediately following our victory, I had the chance to pose my character on-screen, selecting a flying jump-kick to capture for later use. There was no voice chat during the event, but I found myself on the phone with a fellow player whom I called “Winnie”, from her pleasant demeanor an amalgam of Wing and even older client with that name, a nice lady whose boss, I won’t ever forget, suddenly passed from cancer after complaining of stomach pain; I felt lucky to be talking to her, as she occupied an administrative position in our organization and even made up a meaningless “last question, I promise” about changing my icon on the website to stay on the call, but when I thought we were done, she brought up a news story I had previously shared about a local man who, quite seriously I reminded her, killed his wife.

I liked both シン movies so far, and I’m looking forward to the 仮面ライダー one, even if it’s the franchise I remember the least. Speaking of the big man, I dreamed I was one of the M78 heroes last night—I tried to pick Ultraseven as my alter-ego, but he was taken—and we had to fight off a horde of alien bugs.

My next one was more grounded, the wife and I were walking with an Indian woman and her child through a field, who were lured away by a game of frisbee. The grass was damp (like our yard after all the rain), I could distinctly feel it under my bare feet, but I didn’t mind because my shoes or socks wouldn’t get wet.

One of the many dreams I had early this morning was about handling firearms, which if I’m to believe popular media my lack of experience in will surely put me and my loved ones at a disadvantage come the apocalypse, but something in the back of my mind, maybe it was the one time a friend invited me to the range, told me that I could tell whether the safety was on or not by the position of the lever: vertical it was engaged, horizontal meant it could fire. (Later search reveals that this is not the case at all and was not worth waking to check.)

In another, I was at the office I recently noticed had a new occupant and my notepad, the kind I used often with the perforated pages bound at the top that never came off cleanly, was somehow confiscated by IT, led by Leon but in another of my memory lapses, I referred to him as Andrew. They scanned a copy of it before returning it and I protested, knowing that my personal information might be at risk, despite my tendency to write down passwords by themselves all over the place without any meaningful reference or sense of order. I cornered one of them, a fellow from Hong Kong with garish art on his shirt and threatened him.

The third one I remember was about an MMO game which I had long since retired from playing but watched as another crew failed to take down a giant boss dragon. One of the characters was a crow-like bird who ordinarily wasn’t capable of flight, but used an ability called “Backpack” and escaped the wipe by retreating to a roof. Even then, the enemy was smart enough to return with a large piece of furniture to climb up and reach them. I was highly critical of their attempt, regaling them of our successful strategies with a lower level cap and weaker gear. This afternoon we’d drive out to Lit Café, you’ll remember, and while waiting for our last meal there accepted a blind invite to a Primal Groudon raid, which also didn’t go nearly as well our very first. It helps that we don’t care anymore.

Work again, this time at the job that saw better years when they were actual competitors in their industry and not just licensing their brand to anyone who’d use it sell crappy products. And somehow I made it back to the early 70’s or whenever that was, and everyone there was a younger version of themselves. I certainly would’ve liked to see Karen at that age, but she was nowhere to be found. Their Japanese employees went by their full 姓名 names written in English, so I thought it best for me to adopt a similar identity unbeknownst to them. The setting then shifted to the present day, or near future, where CEO Russ Lesser was the sole familiar face (and still driving that circa. 2000 Dark Bowling Green Corvette) but looking much the worse for wear.

DALL-E beat Stable Diffusion for the closest approximation of my image of Jakarta, except the volcano clearly had a Super Mario angry face carved into it.