Stacks of individual sheets from newspapers. A poem, typed on a single 8 x 11 sheet of paper, missing from those stacks. Broken hand-held garden trimmers. Weed killer, meant to supplant those broken trimmers, sprayed indiscriminately on prized decorative garden plants. A trio of arrogant salesmen, whose especially obnoxious leader is later revealed to be entirely artificial, who refuse to leave the premises, even after the police were summoned. Unkempt, smelly passengers—on a chartered motor coach—discussing topics about which they were badly misinformed. A broken deadbolt lock that triggered a delay in beginning a long walk to a critically important, time-sensitive distant meeting. Growing panic caused by the realization that I had only two weeks to complete almost twelve months’ worth of administrative preparation that I had utterly ignored for a year. Some of these scenarios may have been related to others, but then again maybe not. They all were waiting for my brain to sort out when I awoke this morning. My brain has yet to sort them out. Some of them may have been leftovers from brief moments of sleep from the night before. Again, though, maybe not. But they seem to have been fragments of dreams—dreams that were in the process of being carved into nightmares of one kind or another. Sleep and dreams and time share mysteries I cannot understand. No matter the impeccable logic used to explain them, they remain mysterious and threatening and impossible to avoid.
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A temperature of absolute zero would be, according to Google’s latest announcement (this morning), 0 kelvin, or -273.15 degrees Celsius, or -460 degrees Fahrenheit. That, theoretically, is the coldest temperature possible. Depending on which theory one chooses to believe, the hottest temperature might be 10 trillion degrees Kelvin (1012 K). But that is relatively cool, compared to the Planck temperature, which some theorists say is 1032 K. Having never been able to comprehend conversations about the magical mysteries of physics, I do not (nor do I want to make the effort to) understand such extreme numbers. But even in my luxurious ignorance, such stuff fascinates me. If only I could be given an injection of pure understanding and maximum knowledge, I think I would be happy to know what, at present, I do not. But if I have to work for it…no. I am mentally retired. Yet I would like to understand Hagedorn temperature but, again, only if a painless injection would accomplish that state of awareness.
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My first real “date” took place well before I had my driver’s license. My father drove Maggie and me to the theatre, where she and I watched Fantastic Voyage. I have very little memory of subsequent dates, except one with Nancy, who tickled me before we got out of the car (I was driving by then) to go inside the theatre. I have no idea of what we went to see. I remember only that I walked Nancy to her front door afterward, where she kissed me with a fervency I rarely experienced thereafter. Dating seems, to me, overly formal. Enjoying time spent with someone for whom one feels a budding attraction need not be labeled. The label can carry too much weight, especially for external observers who sometimes think it merits more seriousness than it deserves.
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If governments spent as much on medical research as they do on space exploration, military might, and/or warfare, I might be able to stop in at Healthy Replacement Store #71 and pick up new eyeballs that would give me comfort, perfect vision, and cosmetic choice. The same store could provide me with replacement lungs (unlimited warranty, of course), a new and improved bladder, fresh kidneys, a pristine liver, the perfect pancreas, and a full-length intestinal tract. And more, naturally. But warfare and its supporting services line the pockets of a greater number of greed-mongers than does healthcare (even though healthcare does a fair amount of pocket-lining of its own). The idea of off-the-shelf, high-quality body parts has significant appeal. But so does on-demand transplantation. Yet on-demand organ-harvesting presents some ethical issues. Does the donor have a say in the matter? Or does “on-demand” mean I could select anyone to be a donor? Even if the donor had to be agreeable to giving, would I be required to accept any healthy organ offered to me? What if I rejected an organ from a healthy donor (alive or dead) I considered unacceptably stupid? (Who wants a kidney from a donor who’s dumber than a rock?) Would the sketchy ethics of my bigotry be enough to stop the transaction? Or would I be “punished” by being forced to accept the organ? So many questions. So many possibilities.
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The time is almost 9 a.m. I’ve wasted half the damn day by getting up late, plodding along with this blog, and otherwise being lazy and unproductive. Such is life.
