Captain Mom's Log: Week 11: Day 72

Dreams are getting stranger and stranger. The stress of social distancing, global deaths, and lack of jobs intertwines in bizarre ways. We are fine, but as an empath, I tend to let it all in to bleed out through my subconscious.


I was back at the school and we were slammed. Phone call after phone call to find the children who couldn't make it back to class. Were they at work with their mothers or at home without a ride? Did they have lunch? Did they need new clothing and is there enough in our bin to supply to those in need? I looked at my schedule and there was no way I would make it in time to my reading group. I was still manning the cafeteria. Putting out fires between stressed out coworkers and upset children whose oranges were moldy and who were being overcharged by kitchen staff.*

I walked briskly up the winding staircase and found myself in a living room. It was poorly lit, bright blue carpet and there were piles of books and knickknacks in all corners of the house. Next to the armchair, under coffee table, under the bird cage. The stench of cat overtook my nostrils and I began to breath through my mouth. Something with clumpy fur growled at me. I held out my opened hand, low, palm facing up.

"Tch-tch-tch, hello there," I offered.

Clumpy Cat padded over and rubbed against my fingers. I scritched him. He needed a bath. Or at least a brushing. Clumpy Cat followed me as I made my way through the hoarder's den. I forgot what I came up here to find, but I couldn't return downstairs until I had it.

Another growl, and another offering later, I had Orange Kitten in tow. I began to pick up cats like in Wanda Gág's beloved picture book.

I bring a kitten home with me and our neighbors** have returned. The kids rejoice and play. We hug and cry. The hill by our house begins to crumble, but we don't care. We don't care about germs anymore, we don't care if our houses are washed away in the torrential rain that is now flooding the front yards up to our knees. Boulders tumble past, but we are overjoyed to be around friends and the cool rain on my skin never felt so refreshing. Let the storm come. What does it matter if the earth breaks apart if we can be with the people we love? My hair clings to my face as I look up into the rain.


A slow dissolve later I awake with a crink in my neck. Why do I need to have stress in both the real world and the dream world? Why is that ever a necessity? I feel unresolved and go about my day trying to keep the fuzzy kitties in the forefront of my mind and not the hungry children. I hide the transmitter from myself and play with Chief Mate until dinner is ready. We make up secret spy names. His is Slither-Fang. Mine is Wheatybucket.

Today was a good day.


* This is a dream and does not represent what is actually happening at my school. Although elements of it do not seem far off from reality some days. There are many families who are devastated by this way of life and are in desperate need food, supplies, and shelter from abuse. If you have means to help, even lending an ear, or giving information to those in need, a little goes a long way these days. Here is one site with such information.

** Two families of neighbors with kids in reality they have both moved away. They were really a part of our family. The kids all knew each other from a very young age and all played often. Now Chief Mate is stuck with just his parents who are trying their best to play all day every day, but get easily distracted by household chores and writing boring Logs.


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