Woke up with a weird backache and all of my bedding sort of slid off to the side. But that's not the fun part. I was in the middle of a dream that I really did not want to finish. The gist of it: Canada has carved out two state-sized chunks of territory and created a country. Now, full disclosure, this is their business. We don't get to have a say, but this so-called new country has no name. It is restricted to Canadian citizens or denizens if you will. When the paperwork is official, it may or may not be possible for somebody else to enter this enigmatic country. That remains to be seen. Meanwhile, any and all attempts to codify or muscle into the process is rebuffed vigorously. This means the more you ask So what are you calling it? The more the response is excuseme? The only thing you're going to get is a vague assurance that at some point, you may or may not be able to enter legally, even if you specifically request it. The attitude appears to be not our problem. We'll see. We'll let ya know.

In my dream, there is a graphic of the two states (I don't know why I keep calling them states. They should be provinces, but it's my dream so)…the graphic is basically the outline of something empty, conjoined with its neighbor. The specifics are unimportant, rudimentary, like a child's drawing. Oh God I just realized it's not like the famous hurricane sharpie, the thickness is not nearly at that level, but it is reminiscent of that spontaneous randomness. As the drama proceeds, I'm aware, in the dream, that it is me who is asking the questions: if I want to refer to this country, what name shall I use? Answer: ... Not exactly evasion, so much as refer to previous. As in NOYFB. I'm not really frustrated, I don't have any skin in the game. I'm just mildly curious.

And also strangely aware that, as soon as I wake up, the game will end, hence my desire to prolong it. As though by some means the Canadian government will intercede, and move things along. This is an autonomous country, though. They get their own rules and they appear to be pushing back against any sort of timeline. It also has the flavor of collaboration with a neighbor. (Ugh. Collaboration is an ugly word, so let's call it cooperation.) Again, this is Canada's business, so I am acutely aware of my outsiderism. I stare at the empty drawing. It's on a piece of paper which has literally nothing else on it. No identifiers, whatsoever. I could be the only one who is even in on the creation of this country, so inscrutable as to be entirely a figment of my imagination, which I think is the point. Plausible deniability?

Oh rats, it's slipping away. I'm starting to lose it.

I'm waking up.

****
OK, stupid phone.

I'm standing here at Trader Joe's at the checkout. I haven't made contact, that is eye contact, with anybody in the 15 minute walk over here. And I have already had to actually ask you to pack my bag that is after you asked me if I had a bag and it was obvious that I did. This is pro forma BS I know. Anyway when I scan, stupid phone decides to give me a smile, a smiley face, and he starts packing because I gave him verbal permission and then he says oh I'm sorry that didn't go through so I have to go back do it again and this time there's a tiny ass advisory that I need to enter passcode in order to complete the transaction and I already had done a fucking double click on the side, which I usually forget but actually already did, so here's what I wanna ask you stupid phone what the fuck how did I get into the position where I'm physically walking around a grocery store checking off the list that I made on you stupid phone in order for me not to forget some key ingredients for my birthday dinner.

Yes, it's my birthday today Monday and I'm planning for Wednesday for the eight of us—me  and my brother and my oldest and my grandson birthdays, plus dil, my baby brother and extra two sons—and so here I am standing here with expensive egg on my face because you asked me for a passcode which for all intents and purposes you shouldn't of had to ask me because I already had been walking around the store, checking things off on a phone that provided me the ability to make things like my shopping list with no paper and no pencil save the trees! So how in god's green earth does it make any sense at all for you to ask me to confirm that it's me in order for me to buy my groceries in front of god and everybody, it's fucking humiliating. Don't tell me some rando could have my phone making their own shopping list.

And what I don't like even more is the powerful sense that I'm sure my mother had but didn't want to show was people being uncomfortable with an older person struggling to pay for something either with a checkbook or arthritis in your hands whatever it is. I know if I ask Customer Service about this they will say but it's just more important that you spend a little more time making sure that your purchase is legitimate or that we ask you to verify that it's you. I say one more time stupid phone.

On the sidewalk still arguing with myself, I have my sunglasses
on, my blue-light protectors, I'm not able to see clearly. A bald old guy is walking towards me duck-footed, baseball cap, looking off to the side.

I can't tell that it's not you.