Dream Journal

Code Elimination & Tattoo Protest

Working on a section of my code where my Dreamkeeper does a check for various IDs on a page to query and keep the IDs. But a few are redundant? And it doesn’t keep them by name, but some in between specified identifier? My wife points out that she doesn’t understand if it’s working. I don’t bother explaining how it’s supposed to work, as I’m concentrating on trying to eliminate unnecessary code, trying to understand how it’s supposed to work.

I hear about a former friend, Emily W., getting a new tattoo. I ponder how fun it would be to show up outside their tattoo parlor dressed like Frank Chu and protest it, not even acknowledge it was me or I was dressed as Frank Chu.

Meanwhile, it’s the yearly release of a list of neighborhood businesses that have either recently renovated, or turned over ownership — something that’s not quite bad exactly, but that long-time residents ought to be trepidatious about. I walk up a steep asphalt shared driveway to one of them, peering into other commercial back doors along the way. This place is a bit too fancy for me, with its siding styled to look like riveted airplane fuselage. Yet from below, the steep angle makes it appear as though it’s drifting through the sky. Looks very cool actually.

Cellspace is on the list and I’d like to check them out, too. They would be someplace to the right. But they’re not there anymore to the best of my knowledge.

Dream Journal

Favorite Tchotchke Store

Checking in on my favorite Japanese tchotchke store which has been shut for the duration of the pandemic. It seems like it’s appeared in previous dreams as a place where I stored my clothes sometimes. Among the tall wooden columns of its business complex, I feel like I’m sneaking around. The windows are dusty and the door is locked, but I’m relieved to see there’s still stuff inside. It’s obvious they’ve moved a lot of merchandise out, perhaps long ago when the pandemic started. I’m worried they still might go out of business as it’s been so long they were closed.

In my home I’m carrying a “Omicron and Delta” handheld COVID temperature sensor device. It’s a smooth bubble-form electronic, a little fancier than I’d typically buy. Reflecting how it can’t be that old as the branding of it for detecting Omicron could’ve only happened recently.


A Strange Thing Happened on the Road to Married

My fiancée, Lynae Gladys Straw, is a ceramicist. More than just a ceramicist, she started her own small business around ceramics. She sells her stuff on Etsy and makes a pretty decent living (for a 23 year-old that started her own business).

Me, I’ve come from a series of bad work situations. I went from one job I was unhappy at that paid me little to a job that made me very happy but paid me nothing. Then I had a few jobs where I was relatively happy, and where I was decently paid, but the bosses were either incompetent or incomprehensible, sometimes both, never neither. I stopped wanting to work at places that believed looking up information on how better to do one’s work somehow counted as play. I got kicked around and more than a little disillusioned.

Everyone should know by now that I do a lot of work for the little lady. Specifically, I do almost all her packaging and all her product photos—two things which are rather important for an online business. So I kind of ended up working for her (that’s what I like to tell people at parties, anyway). But it’s a little more complicated. Y’see, for everything but tax purposes, I’ve started to see it as our business. She makes the stuff; I’m the one that gets rid of it.

That’s fine in most ways. I’m happy. There are some ways which don’t seem to work as well, though. I’m still operating within her big shiny creative orbit, no matter how many sunbeams I bounce off into the far reaches of space. What I need, what I’m thinking, what she agrees, is that I oughta have my own thing too.

Real soon I’ll be stocking my own Etsy store. The refined talents of the but-for-a-moment-still Ms. Straw should come in handy there. Keep an eye on the GLOT, too, as I’ve got many plans in store for it. Wish I could reveal more, but I’ve revealed enough. Accelerate it, baby.