YELLOW FOG

When I left the house in my dream it was after making sure that the tenants (all women) were asleep, or at least in bed. And I have no clue why I had office equipment and a full reference filing system in the closet. From Sacramento Street all the way down to Broadway the fog got thicker in each block; by the time I hit the cheese shop it was extremely dense and yellow.
I think I determined that it was because of the dust storms blowing in from the nearby desert, and that the yuppies drinking beer on café terraces were to blame.
As they were for the dearth of taxis.

It took a conscious act of will to make the cold sweats stop.

Probably one of the weirdest dreams I've had.

I've come to expect these.


My bloodpressure meds can cause constipation, diarrhea, stomach aches and digestive cramping, mood episodes, dizziness, intense dreams, and spontaneous miscarriages or female reproductive issues. So far, I've only experienced intense dreams, stomach aches, and occasional digestive cramps.

Given my age and gender, any spontaneous miscarriages or female reproductive issues would be in my head. Much like yellow fog, dust storms, and nearby deserts. My late lunch yesterday probably played a role (臘味煲仔飯 'laap mei pou chai faan'), and that really should not be surprising: preserved meats with browned onion over rice in a clay pot. It comes to the table hot so that you can pour soy sauce down the sides to sizzle the rice and form a fragrant bottom crust. It's an excellent choice, quite delicious and very Hong Kong, and a little too rich. Because I was eating alone I didn't order a vegetable. And unfortunately one cannot go up to a random person on the street and say: "excuse me miss, I think I might possibly order something to eat which requires company so that there is a vegetable and the meal is properly balanced, would you care to be beneficial to my digestion?"


There are two (2) reasons why one cannot do that: 1) My Cantonese would probably sound like gibberish upon trying to say something so long and convoluted, and 2) many random persons would either start screaming or yelling, and a few might burst into tears.
Some might even poke me with a sharp stick after I spoke.
Honestly, it's just not done.


A hungry behavioural psychology student majoring in middle aged eccentrics might aquiesce. But unless she has a big sign glued to her forehead, I wouldn't know her from Adam.
And she'd probably have the common sense to eat healthier in any case.


Next time, the porkchops on a bed of spaghetti with tomato sauce covered with bubbly melted cheese. That, too, is probably better shared.


Healthy feasting at a chachanteng might require women.
This needs to be investigated.




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