Back at work on March 8, 2026, and you know it ain’t so bad. I had a distressing dream last night concerning work. I was at a version of the fruit stand with the logo surrounded by red lighting. Yancy and Kimberly were talking to me, but I could never hear just what it was that they were saying.

Each time I would ask them to repeat themselves, some type of noise would drown out what was being said. I knew better to ask them to repeat themselves too often, and so I muddled about. I was supposed to sit in this new area, but I had no idea what to do. There were notes lying around, but I don’t think they pertained to me.

I was told a few times to find that woman a hotel. For some reason, I thought they were talking about Patti Smith, but I am not too sure about that. In the dream, I was walking around areas that seemed somewhat familiar, but on closer inspection, some key ingredients were missing. Like sugar. I needed sugar for my coffee, but could not find any, which was just as well since I could not find any coffee either.

The dream seemed to last a long time, and I could not awaken from it, and it was stressful. On top of that, daylight savings came and robbed me of an hour’s sleep. I forgot that I was going to be dark when I woke up in the morning, and it certainly was today. That threw me off, and I kept thinking to myself, I am up too early and should be going back to sleep. The confusion was also from the fruit stand dream as well.

Mike was over this weekend, and it was good. Bill was bussing snowboarders up to Vermont from Long Island, and Mike stepped in to babysit me. Mike came in handy, and Bill seems to have done all right for himself. I spoke with my dear old friend Jane. She was someone who always believed in me, even when I did not believe in myself, which was often.

My first show was playing two songs at Tin Pan Alley in Times Square with Jane. We rehearsed a few times and had 2 shows on a Saturday and Sunday way back when. Jim Mastro and the other Bongo were in the front row watching me as my caffeinated fingers played fast barre chords.

My then-roommate Jimmy Lee also played a few songs with Jane. Jimmy saw how anxious I was and reminded me that no one else could do what I do, and I should just relax and have fun. I heard the words, but I was not able to relax. In fact, I think I had an out-of-body experience.

IT’s a Monday in March, and the temperature is going up to 60 degrees. A woman sitting next to me on the PATH train gave up her seat for a man with a cane. I did not notice the cane until she got up and he sat down. I thought about giving up my seat for the woman who gave up hers, but I instead closed my eyes and tried to remember Kimberly’s name.

Friday has arrived. Just in time for it to be March 6, 2026. Whereas yesterday was raining all day and quite dismal, today is just a little bit cold, a little bit damp. I just had halal food for lunch. It was good. The guys in the box like me, or remember me as the white guy who brings his own bag and does not want napkins or any utensils. I get a smile from them, and I’d like to think a little bit extra, whatever.

Bill is on an island off the coast of America, as am I. He will be back on the mainland eventually, as will I. Mike is landlocked and expected to come over tonight. It’s all planned. He comes over tonight and leaves Sunday, which works out fine for me. On nights where I have to work the next day, I need a good night’s sleep amd when Mike is around, things don’t always work out that way. An occasional grope, and last time Mike said I kept reaching out and hugging him tightly throughout the night.

I’m not complaining, and I don’t think Mike was either. Nothing sexual, more platonic than anything. Mike needs a hug now and then, and I guess I am happy to supply him with hugs. Daylight saving time is tomorrow. Spring ahead, fall behind. One hour of sleep is lost, and I can make it up with a nap. I think it works but we will find out Sunday afternoon I reckon.

My sleep routine has been quite good this past week. I’ve been going to bed around 10:30, and it makes all the difference in the world. I suppose 8 hours is what I require, and though I settle for 7.5 hours, 8 is the ideal. I do have some anxiety thinking it is time to wake up, and if I spy the alarm clock like I did this morning, I find I still have a few hours of sleep to achieve.

The train was not crowded at all this morning. That does not mean it will not be crowded this afternoon, though. Yancey is out today, as is Kimberly, leaving Janis to man the fort up at her fruit stand, and me battening the hatches at this small fruit stand. A box of cigars was delivered last night, but I did not know that until this morning, and I was not about to climb four flights of stairs to drop off a box. Perhaps one of my neighbors will carry it up as Bill & I sometimes do for them.

And my Mojo Magazine dilemma continues. They reupped my subscription, but I am still short an issue with David Bowie on the cover. I got the Small Faces cover, which was issued after Bowie, and it has gotten me playing some Small Faces hits, but let’s face it, it’s not Bowie. Mojo says they’ve mailed another issue to me, but so far, I have not received it. Am I paying for a subscription to a magazine that never arrives?

Last night, before going to sleep, I heard ‘We Didn’t Start the Fire’ by Billy Joel. This morning I heard ‘It’s Still Rock & Roll to Me’. Strangeness abounds. Walking to the PATH train this morning, Brian Wilson’s Melt Away played in my head.

Silica days