Wide Open Spaces, and Assorted Nocturnal Weirdness

[digitaldiscipline]

Quiet day thus far at work, and a lot of people are out. Since the removal of the next row of cubicles, there's a lot of dead space by my desk... today, that's been put to use doing lunges. Then situps. Then pushups.

There may be a mid-afternoon fitness challenge of some sort if the other guy manning the phones and I get bored enough.

Last night, after falling asleep at *cough* eight thirty *cough* the ol' dreamscape was once again populated by movies that haven't been made. In addition to my usual fare (hockey, espionage), there was also football and romantic dramedy.

All braided together. With a B-list all-star cast.

Hockey: Instead of being a player, I was some sort of rich executive (played by Ron Livingston), and there was a team populated by three brothers, whose last named happened to be "Orange," and they skated out for the climactic game with one, two, and three oranges on their respective jerseys, like some sort of slot-machine jackpot combination. The announcer indicated that the trio had accounted for fifteen points in their previous game, a 7-2 victory (apparently, my subconscious knew the score of last night's Sabres-Predators game); six goals and nine assists. Not sure who they were playing, but K & I were glad to know that their team was in second place, five points behind league-leading Buffalo.

Football: mighty_man and I were doing something akin to Mark Wahlberg's character in Invincible, but were being played by Keenan Ivory Wayans and David Alan Greer. Oddly, it wasn't a comedy.

The espionage/drama was an offshoot development of the hockey storyline, but I was being played by a Shining-remake era Steven Weber, aishlynn was being played by Cynthia Watros with dark hair, and mighty_man was my business partner, portrayed by a decidedly non-Lumbergish Gary Cole, with a penchant for tweed.

This climaxed with me taking a depressing walk along a the raised walkway of a suspension bridge, against traffic, as aishlynn shouted at me from far below, along a breakwater. I may my way down, through sleet and slush, and met up with she and mighty_man in a sheltered alcove, where I took my shoes off (how did I know it was me? The shoes were my Rockports, and I had on my usual fare of ankle-high grey and white athletic socks) in two inches of cold water, poured slush out of them, and then put them back on, before we had our business reconciliation and agreed on some plan for our mutual future.



I have no bloody idea what any of this means, beyond my continuing questionable preference in socks with business attire.