Fantasy

Call the Bomb Squad, it’s 2023

/ cigarman501 / 7 Comments

“There has never been a ‘New Year’ that has managed to become ‘new’ if the mistakes of the old years are repeated!”

― Mehmet Murat ildan

I’m not going to touch 2023 with a ten-foot pole unless the bomb squad says it is okay. A change in the House leadership, threats of retribution for perceived liberal evils, charges looming against a former president, Hunter’s laptop…and House leadership walking the halls of Congress with a gallon of gasoline and a Zippo. I hope that is metaphorical.

For the past six years I have had hopes that we would turn ourselves around as humans and strive to make the principles this country was founded on a reality. Well, enough about the ridiculous and on to the sublime.  The sublime of course, is me.

When it comes to New Year’s resolutions, I have an affliction like Midas’ golden touch except instead of gold, my touch creates gooey, stinky, piles of cow poo.

After reading my posts from the past five or six New Years I’ve decided the New Year is a little like Monty Hall’s “Let’s Make a Deal” with a twist. Instead of “My whole life lies waitin’ behind Door Number Three” it is Door Number 2023, My choices are a smelly Billy goat, Uncle Cletus’ dirty underwear, or a live bomb.1 Should I mention the three wires leading to the bomb are all black?

I had great hopes 2022 would reverse the trend I have noticed since I began writing in 2014. That would be both personally and politically. Instead, 2022 started badly and finished worse with a few ups and many downs in between.

From the January 6th insurrection to a positive Covid test over Thanksgiving and what was characterized as a Covid carryover of vertigo and nausea on Christmas Day, 2022 has been circling the toilet for a while and refusing to flush. If I look closely, I see the ghosts of New Years past circling too. Seems little has changed. I’m a bit worried about what New Year’s Eve might bring.

As I reread my New Year’s posts, they followed similar pig trails. Lamentations of broken resolutions, self-reflection on why they were broken before listing the hopes I have for the next New Year. Hopes and dreams that quickly turn into pipe dreams, fantasies, or will-‘o-the wisp mirages.

I think my depression has taken hold. Thank goodness the daylight hours are lengthening.

Rather than choosing to avoid making resolutions, I’ve decided this year to use the “Kiss” principle. “Keep it simple stupid,” the old naval design principle noted by the U.S. Navy in 1960 that I attempted to model as a coach…. I was 13 and 27 as a varsity head football coach. I’m already rethinking that choice.

So here it is, my resolution for 2023. “Ta…ta…ta-taaaaa.” Do one positive thing daily, other than getting out of bed in the morning. That is as simple as I can make it. I mean aren’t the chances good that I’ll do something positive whether I’m trying or not? I do take daily showers, that’s positive, right? I know, it’s like giving up calf liver for Lent, something I give up the remainder of the year too.

Happy New Year, Friends. To you I make this toast, “May the New Year bring you courage to break your resolutions early! My own plan is to swear off every kind of virtue so that I triumph even when I fall!” – Aleister Crowley

1The game show referenced earlier was “Let’s Make a Deal.” Created and hosted by Monty Hall, it premiered in 1963 and featured crazy people with signs, in crazy dress hoping to get Monty’s attention and a chance at the brass ring. The ending segment pitted a previous winner who was given the choice of trading their winnings for prizes of varying worth located behind one of three doors, one featuring a prize of worth, a car possibly, the others not so much.

The song “Door Number Three” referenced with the reframe, “My Whole World Lies Waiting Behind Door Number Three” was a song written by Steve Goodwin in 1975 and most famously performed by Jimmy Buffett on his A1A album. The tune is now circling my brain like 2022 circled the toilet. So, with the video below you can join in along with Monty Hall and the crazies from “Let’s Make a Deal.” Make sure you watch till the end.

Further readings by Don Miller may be found at https://www.amazon.com/stores/Don-Miller/author/B018IT38GM?ref=ap_rdr&store_ref=ap_rdr&isDramIntegrated=true&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

A Game… Under a Psychedelic Sun in a Tangerine Sky: An Excerpt

/ cigarman501 / 3 Comments

I felt my heart rate and respiration jump.  At least I hadn’t screamed.  I need to get up…wait, “What the….”  In the morning light escaping around the pulled blinds, I saw nothing that looked familiar.  I was in a king-sized bed in what appeared to be in an old-fashioned bedroom complete with a patchwork quilt, wainscoted walls, a dry sink with pitcher and bowl.  Heavily stuffed chairs resembled prehistoric animals gazing at me from the corners.  Glancing at the other side of the bed, I saw it had not been slept in…”What the f….”

“Okay I get it, it’s a dream within a dream.  I only think I’m awake.  The scene is too real.  If this is a dream within a dream, why do I feel the urge to pee?”

As I stood over the urinal, I noticed something was wrong…well…different.  The lower body I looked at didn’t resemble mine in the least nor did the dragon I was draining.  Short, thick legs were now long and slender, bowling ball sized calves replaced with long, supple, athletic ones. The “over Sixty” paunch I worked so hard and failed to eliminate was gone, replaced by toned abs and a chest covered in dark, curly hair.

Turning on the light at the bathroom sink, the mirror reflected a face and upper body that wasn’t mine.  Looking back at me, mimicking my every move was Tom Selleck.  Not the Blue Bloods or Jesse Stone Tom Selleck, the Magnum P.I. Tom Selleck.  The shaggy dark hair and matching mustache, dimples that deepened like the Grand Canyon when I smiled Tom Selleck.  “Man, what a dream.”  Dipping my head a bit and angling it to the side, my face became the winking Tom Selleck’s.

The body didn’t feel like mine either.  I usually groaned when I got out of bed.  The body I looked at in the mirror didn’t ache at all.  Locking my knees, I bent and reached toward my toes…“Man, what a dream.”

Looking around the room, my gaze fell on the armoire that housed a television set above its pullout drawers.  A folded notecard made from expensive stock sat to one side of the TV, a remote to the other.  Picking up the notecard, I felt chills chase themselves up and down my spine, ‘Welcome to Pearly Gates Bed and Breakfast,’ was embossed in gold on the front. The inside also etched in gold, welcomed me. ‘We hope to make your transition enjoyable and stress-free.’  It was signed, Petra Saint, Proprietor.  I pondered…”I’m missing something.”

A gentle knock to my door brought me back to the here and now, where ever the here and now was.

***

Through the peephole, I saw a shapely petite woman with a clear, coffee and cream complexion and short blue-black hair.  She tapped a pen against a clipboard before placing it under her arm and straightening her clothes.  The woman had an “all business” look on her a pretty face.  A familiar silhouette stood on shapely, well-formed legs, displayed in a black leather skirt.  Black moderately heeled pumps made her calf muscles stand out.  A matching leather jacket covered a blazing white blouse with a moderate neckline covered in frills.

I recognized her.  I had watched her on TV the night before as I fell asleep, Tamron Hall on the ID Channel.  I kept the TV on to blot out the sounds buzzing in my ears…except my ears were no longer buzzing.

An excerpt from the short story

The short story A Game… Under a Psychedelic Sun in a Tangerine Sky may be downloaded at https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07Q18P2NQ

Don Miller’s Author’s page may be accessed at https://www.amazon.com/Don-Miller/e/B018IT38GM