Good morning, everybody.
I may have been having some kind of joking conversation with a kind of gentle-looking, white-haired man in glasses, a business suit, and a trench coat.
The white-haired man then walked in through the front door of a tall building while I stood out on the sidealk. It was a bright, sunny day. The doorway the man walked into was really dim.
I wondered something about Warren Buffett, or possibly something about my brother. I felt like somehow the white-haired man had been related to one or both of them. But I couldn't figure out how. And something about the sight of both of them made me feel bad about how I've neglected my brother or treated him badly all my life.
I was in the living room of my family's house. It was a sunny day, and the living room was bright with natural light. None of the windows may have had any curtains. The windows, though, may have been grimy, as if kids had rubbed their sticky fingers against the panes.
My mom was sitting at a side table with my second youngest nephew. I was sitting on the floor. My other nephews were running around somewhere nearby, maybe back and forth between the living room and the backyard.
My second youngest nephew coul tell that I was getting frustrated. I may have been hoping that I could have a second or two to speak to my mom about something. But my nephews, it seemed to me, kept getting in my way. I couldn't pay attention to anything my mom was saying.
My nephew, sensing this, got up and walked away. He also came up to me before he left and said, "You know what? I'm going to be done with arcade games for the rest of the day!" I knew my nephew said this to impress me. He meant to say that he was going to do his homework instead of playing video games.
My nephew may have left on the table a few sheets of papers that had some colorful scribblings on them and a mini-arcade game toy, like an old mini-Pac Man game from the late 1970s or early 1980s.
It was a sunny day. I was outside with a few people, including my mother. We may have been waiting for something.
A recreational vehicle may have pulled up before my mom and I. The RV looked a little bit strange. Even though the RV towered over us like a three-story building, it didn't look as big as a usual trailer, and the bottom end seemed a bit too high and flat. But I knew it was probably my brother's, that my brother had been really enthusiastic about getting one, and so I tried to think as positively about the RV as I could.
The RV had somehow separated my mother and me from the other people we'd been with. So we walked back under the RV to get to them. Now, it seemed, the RV actually did feel gigantic to me.
I looked over to the left. There were seats like in a movie theater. Before I even knew what the seats were for, I called to my mom, "Look! See? That's a small movie theater. Inside an RV!" There were a few people in the seats now. And now I could just barely make out where the movie screen was.
I told my mom, "You see? They can watch movies here. But also, there's a way they can see through.. all the way... to the cabin." As I said this, the front windshield became visible, gleaming with the golden light of an afternoon sun.
The view seemed too low, like the driver's cabin was a level or two higher than the movie theater. I thought the angle from which the people in the theater seats saw would prevent them from actually seein anything out the window.
But, to justify this view, I turned away from the theater and toward my mom. I said, "What happens is, there's a hydraulic lift underneath the seats. When the people in the theater seats want to see outside instead of watching the movie, they just -- 'zzzhhhwwweeep!' up to see out the windshield."
I imagined the hydraulic lift, clean and chrome, telescoping upward. I tried to explain this visual to my mom. But the corollary for it seemed -- humorously -- to me to be the arm gesture for "fuck you." I said to my mom, "It just goes 'zzzhhhwwweeep!'" and made the arm gesture, hoping she'd see it as a joke.
As I did this, a clear, plastic partition came down behind my mom, cornering her backside like the square of a stand-in shower stall. Behind and past the clear partition I could now see some of my family members, including my aunt M and probably my uncle M.
I knew my family members were talking about my mother. I thought they may have been talking bad about her, about something she did that they thought was annoying. I also thought they may have been talking about how they thought she was going to die.
I hoped my family didn't think my arm gesture was directed seriously toward my mom. But I also, now hoped, my mom didn't think I'd meant the arm gesture seriously. I had tried to make it as obviously joke-like as possible. But I remembered times my old friend R had disguised serious insults as jokes. I had the thought that, even if I'd meant the arm gesture as a joke, I'd also probably, at least partly, meant it seriously.
I was in a dim living room with my mother and my nephews, and maybe some other kids who were like friends or classmates of my nephews. There were four couches in the living room, two side-by-side, and the other two facing the first two. They took up only half the living room. The other half of the room, apparently, was empty.
Some of my crayon drawings were on the couch to my far right. I was a little worried that they had gotten out here. I knew I had some adult baby fetish drawings in the pile. I didn't want any of the kids to see that stuff.
I walked over to the pile of drawings to pick them up. My second oldest nephew said, "Your mom thinks a lot of your work is really creative. It's really good." I was happy to hear this. I never had much, or any, confidence in my work. Now I had a little.
But then my nephew said, "But your mom doesn't think any of your work is funny. She doesn't think the jokes you make are funny." I knew this was meant to discount all of my work, like none of it was valid, since none of it was funny.
I didn't know, now, whether my mom had really said it, or whether my nephew had just made it up because he was jealous or he just wanted to hurt me for the fun of it. But I now felt really bad about my work all over again.
I walked into a barber shop or beauty salon. My mom may have walked in with me or she may already have been sitting in a chair inside the salon, waiting to have something done for her.
As I'd been walking into the salon, I'd been having a conversation, maybe in my head, with someone regarding a type of girl I apparently liked. I may have mentioned this girl in connection with onesies, like what kind of girl wears onesies, and why I think that kind of girl is so cute.
I described a girl, kind of like a college girl, with tan skin, a roundish face, sunglasses, brown hair with streaks of red, and wearing a pink, jumpsuit-like hoodie.
Now, coming into the salon, I saw, just past my mother, three girls, like sorority girls, all really pretty, with long legs, and dressed really sexy. The central girl was talking with the other girls, probably about her boss, who was probably a tall, handsome, older man. The girl said, "Yeah, my boss says I'm energetic and greedy enough to make it in City Hall."
I looked down to the floor. Sitting across the salon from my mom was an old woman, like my father's mother. The woman had had heart problems, I knew, like my mom was having. But the problems were also causing problems with the woman's limbs.
The woman's feet, especially her toes, were all swollen. The skin looked like elephant skin. The toes may even have been melting into each other, so that each foot had only a couple of toes. One of the feet may, in fact, have been only one big toe. The toes wriggled about like sluggish worms.
I wondered why I should even be interested in girls, sex, or beauty, when this was all it came to. But I tried to justify sexual interest, and I tried to convince myself that this kind of thing really didn't need to happen to people.