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My landlady came by today and brought the other garage opener.  It only works intermittently, too. Maybe between the two of them, I can get the door to open consistently when I need it to.  Like tomorrow morning at absurd o’clock when I’ll be heading downtown.  I plan to leave at a quarter of 8:00 so as to have plenty of time to fight the downtown going to work traffic, find where I’m supposed to park, and hike over to where I’m supposed to report for jury duty.  Not looking forward to it at all.  I have to take my meds an hour early and that messes things up.

Later on in the week, I might call the local business my landlady uses and tell them what’s happening, and see if they have any suggestions — other than forking over about $350 to get a new garage door opener.  I might also ask about getting a replacement remote.  The remote she had, had a brand name and model number on it.  Of course, they probably don’t make them any more.

I’ve decided I’m going to take this book tomorrow. It has a wonderfully lurid book cover.

This morning, I had another one of those “story” dreams I have from time to time.  This was a “Romeo and Juliet” plot line set in the 1960’s South, where Romeo was Black and Juliet was white.  They had known each other since they were children.  He used to climb a tree in the woods near her house and hide up in the branches out of sight, and she would sit or stand under it so they could talk without being seen to be together.  Gradually over the years, they fell in love but also came to know their love was doomed, that their town would never accept them getting together and they could not afford to leave town and go north where they might have a chance at happiness.  Her parents “arranged” a marriage for her with a local bigwig’s son who was a conceited, obnoxious jerk. The Juliet character could not face the idea of marrying anybody but her Romeo, and especially not this jerk.  The night before the wedding, she got her wedding dress and sneaked out of the house.  She left a note in her room saying she wasn’t going to marry the jerk, that she was eloping with the only man she had ever loved, and that they were going someplace where they could be together forever, where nobody could ever find them or separate them.  She and her Romeo met in the woods at their tree.  He dressed up in his best suit, and she put on her wedding gown.  They tied two hangman’s nooses to the tree branch, put them around their necks and jumped off the branch together, committing suicide.

I don’t know what’s weirder, when I have weird dreams that don’t make sense, or when I have dreams like this one which not only have a plot, but one that is actually good enough for a book or film — if someone else would like to write it.  I don’t think I could put my head in the place it would have to be in to write something like that — even if I wanted to.