I had a dream about an hour before I woke up today.


A giant mall, filled with young men and women of high school age, some were venders selling food to get ready for the entertainment.  I pass a man with a bucket of doughnut holes who smiles at me knowingly.  I listen as the high schoolers perform various songs in different areas of the mall, walking back and forth to hear the different music.


The high school performance is done, it is time for the middle schoolers.  A new, fresh energy enters the mall.  Nervousness, earnestness, this is a new generation.


Dancing and singing poppy music, girl groups, good voices, interesting songs.


Suddenly, a surprise.  Giant black speakers rip out of the walls.  The young middle school guys play heavy punk.  Sounds terrible.  Sounds great.  Full of energy.


The dream takes a turn for the worse.  the floor of the mall caves in, leaving only small sections of the mall in tact.  It is the end of the world.

I took a look at my last two daylogs, and boy was I all over the place, more so with the last one than the first. Maybe I was too distracted by food, it wouldn’t be anything new, I am always distracted by food. You can call me anything you want, just don’t call me later for dinner.

All I can say is, Lord I was born a rambling man.

I am sitting here watching my cat sitting in the window trying to think of something to talk about for the next few minutes while I am at lunch. Don’t worry though, I already ate so pizza.

Yummy, I like pizza.

I know you do, but don’t interrupt me I am doing something important and I need to be serious and focused so I don’t have to come back later tonight after work and try to finish this ramble using the same thread.

I keep looking at the clock. I will never make it like this, I need to just enter the zone and not look up until I am done.
Well, that might not be a good idea, I could be late going back to work.

So why the rush to throw together 500 words in 15 minutes; just to say I can, and is not considered good practice? Isn’t that what those writing classes tell you do, a fifteen minute free-write. Kind of a stretching for the mind, so you don’t get a writer’s cramp or something when it comes time to the heavy lifting.

Well, ten minutes down and halfway there. I need to pick up the pace if I want to make it back to work on time.

Hurry, give me something to write about.

We could write about the 100 foot wall we are building for a kid you went to school with.

What is this we shit we are the same person. We are never going to be considered normal if you keep referring to us like that.
Sorry I can’t help it, you and I are just two different souls crammed into one body. Do you have any suggestions on marrying the two of us together, I think we might be able to accomplish more if we worked together and not against one another.

You might be on to something there, Mr. internal monologue. Let our voices come together and join in holy matrimony.

This is all well and good, but I am running out of time and still have 80 words to bump out, you gotta do better than that, or it is back in the dark, dank box for you.

Please don’t, I will help you with anything, just don’t lock me up again.

Alright, one good idea and we are done, so let’s hear it.

Okay I got something.

What is it?

Physical labor is the best thing for someone. There is nothing better. Everyone should be slaving. A lazy river collects sediments.

That is so true. Good job, bro.

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