“Your girlfriend apparently lacks the instinct for self-preservation and she’s obviously not going to fight back. But I’m not your girlfriend. I may not win but I definitely do hit back. Of that much I can promise you,” I told the psycho in my nightmare last night.

It seemed like I was alone with him and his girlfriend in some seedy deserted motel somewhere. As I stood there assessing the guy and trying to guess whether or not I could take him if I slammed a fist in his throat as fast as I could (an area that causes more pain and that few expect you to hit), he turned around and started slamming his head into the wall. The wall had these little metal spikes scattered about in different lengths and thicknesses. After a few hits, specks of blood began to fly from his face.

“Fine,” I told him. “You keep doing that while I go down and call the cops.

Not having my cell phone with me I went down to the lobby and found an old-fashioned rotary phone. The ‘9’ circled around fine but I began to panic because the ‘1’ didn’t move as smoothly. Nonetheless, my call went through. After I filled the dispatcher in and asked him how long it would take for help to arrive, he didn’t give a precise time frame but made it sound like it could be a while. Being that I was supposedly in a small town, I was a bit surprised.

In another dream, I was on a boat somewhere listening to a talk show. When the host asked the audience questions, you could answer out loud because it had some kind of voice recognition installed and enabled.

“No,” I said when asked if I wanted to upgrade to a premium subscription.

Then I was in the talk show host’s home. I knew he worked from home and figured it would take quite a mansion to have room for his business and his family, but as I could see, the guy had an ordinary-looking home and plenty of space. I sat in a darkened area in which he worked, and looking out into the rest of the house, I could see there was enough space for a living room, kitchen and bedrooms.

In one of the dreams I had the night before, I seemed to be sitting on a cot in a little tent. Something dangled nearby but I’m not sure if it was a decorative piece of some kind or a plant. My dream self thought I should spray it soon to keep bugs out.

Then that evil witch Donna A was going through a bunch of books somewhere. I happened by and asked if there was anything good to read even though I did all my reading on my Kindle. I picked up a mystery book about a little girl who had been abused somehow.

In real life, I got one of those things in the mail for a shit test. Tom’s done them before. Instead of having a colonoscopy, you just brush the shit and dab it on a testing strip, then mail it in. Poor Joe! I guess I’ll go ahead and do it this year. Pretty surprised to see the lab it’s going to is in Kansas. I guess in this case the shit really does “fly” since I doubt it will go all the way from Cali by ground.

I’ve had a hell of a time finding decent shows and movies to watch. I love Lifetime movies, but the few I haven’t seen on YouTube are low quality, and a lot of what’s on Netflix and Amazon Prime is foreign stuff. I’m an American in America. Why would I want to have to watch foreign stuff and read subtitles? Even with the languages I know, why would I want to still have to read subtitles because of the damn accents?

I just settled on a series called Happy Valley, but sure enough, it’s in England. I think that’s where it’s filmed, anyway. I just can’t get into anything else, so hopefully I’ll be able to get into this. I have to deal with the accent, though the English accent is my favorite and they don’t usually blast background music like American shows and movies do unless it’s pertinent to the scene. This makes it less distracting and easier to hear the actors.