I ever tell you all about the dream I had, where I lost the number 3?
Not a particular three, not a plastic fridge magnet three.
But all threes, the very concept of three.
3 ceased to exist.
Oops.
Too many implications.
Vast cosmic horror.
And then the row of cubicles were empty, long abandoned, and all covered over with photinia bushes, growing lush and unhindered, green and red leaves crowding the aisle I was trying to walk down, to walk out of, to get out of there.
Then I was dreaming that it was a different company I was at.
I was head down in some project, when the CEO, a serious woman in her 40's, pulled me aside and urgently told me,
"We just figured out that our head developer has been secretly working for our competitor, Bearly Working. There are suspicious commits in the code. We think he put in backdoors in our shipped versions."
Then suddenly time jumped forward.
Anxiety dream about working in tech:
There was a startup that promised to move large white insulated shipping containers of running cryogenic quantum computers.
But CEO was full nuts, wanted a big press spectacle.
"Move the servers by giant hexacopter! Suspended by a single umbilicus! While the servers are still running! With people working inside the container! Up the cliff face! While everyone is trashed on beer! And wearing bear suits! 'Cause it's Bearsuit Friday. Ha ha ha!"
A recurring location in my nightmares is a rural county full of dangerous rednecks and white supremacists in Southwest #Virginia that doesn't actually exist. It's placement is around Franklin County where I lived for several years in my late teens and early 20s, specifically between Boones Mill and Rocky Mount, but it is explicitly not Franklin County. I don't know why my mind made up a fictional county or why it constantly pops back up on a regular basis.
Follow GOLF
HEFKA
Don Curren 🇨🇦🇺🇦
Charlie Phillips/Dolphinchaz
Muro deGrizeco
Jim
Ben! (Boo!)