From: dicksilk@gmail.com   
      
   2019/10/17 Thursday:  The Day AFTER the Universe Fell Apart (38 years ago.)   
      
   OK, so the 15th (in 1981) was the night I spent in Gina's arms in her dorm   
   room (literally, as we did not "consummate" anything that night.)  The 16th   
   was the day I launched a fictional campaign against her, with my "friend's"   
   help, using the phone in    
   the days prior to caller ID and *69 or any of those other functions, leading   
   her to think I was dead or dying in pain and agony somewhere, leaving her   
   exposed to the wilds of her own imagination.  *SURELY* her subconscious mind   
   should've been asking    
   herself, "Isn't it a bit *too* convenient that someone allegedly dying   
   somewhere (or at least suffering in extreme pain) has access to a phone?  And   
   why won't he tell me what's wrong or where he is?"  Yes, it was stupid of me,   
   juvenile, and quite    
   possibly criminal, although any possible statute of limitations has long since   
   passed.  Although, to tell the truth, all I said was, "It hurts!" (or "It...   
   Hurrrrrrtssss!" so technically, I was telling the truth.  I was in extreme   
   mental anguish at the    
   time.  So today, in 1981, was the day I realized I had to call her back and   
   try to bluff my way through as if nothing had happened.  I couldn't.  I fessed   
   up and told her "It was a joke."  "Malicious prank" would've been more like   
   it, with the motivation    
   being the pain I had experienced from misunderstanding something she'd said on   
   the phone during the morning of the 16th.   
      
   So then began my nearly 4 decades long period of self-recrimination and   
   guilt.  Is it any wonder she's refused communication with me?  Fortunately,   
   I've been coming out of that funk the past few years, thanks in great part to   
   the words of Jesus, "Love    
   thine enemies" — start FIRST with one's greatest enemy of SELF!   
      
   Which brings us to last night's dream sequence, which may take a bit of   
   explanation more than retelling:   
      
   I (the dreamer) seemed to be at some kind of event / party, involving people,   
   a table, and a stack of cups.  The cups were larger than Dixie Cups, about as   
   wide as a red SOLO plastic party cup, but of a thicker construct, possibly   
   paper or Styrofoam,    
   hard to say, as I didn't touch any of the cups as near as I can remember.    
   Somewhere on the cups AS WELL AS somewhere else I can't quite pull out of the   
   fog, there were occasional letters written, as if in thick, black Sharpie   
   pen.  I noticed they were    
   in a pattern, so as to spell out something, along the lines of "I AM 27" or "I   
   AM 42"— either way, they had an ominous feeling to them, as if someone (I   
   thought it was Gina's DAD!) were out to get me!  (I suspect it was NOT Gina's   
   biological father,    
   Max, but rather my OWN self  at those ages, intent upon resolving my issue   
   with her, namely, getting married.)  Attitude is everything.   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)