The silent treatment

 I slept through the day today, finally getting up at 6PM. I had a weird dream that I was walking out Brokaw to First Street to get the light rail to the #23 bus except there was a #23 bus stop along there for some reason, and I was walking with some people and some nut with a gun started shooting at us. With a Glock for some reason, it was odd that I knew this, because my reason for being out there was to take the #23 bus downtown and go to this bar frequented by old white guys to sell one of them ... my Glock. 

So much for sleeping in! 

I *do* need to sell off everything possible in preparation for the move back home, though. 

I got an email from Dave in Honolulu in response to my sending one floating the idea of my "landing" at least at his place for which I'd pay him. His response was that I "land" at Pat's place on the Big Island, which made me write a big long email with all the reasons I'd not do that. Dave's mentally still "together" enough to manage selling the email address he's been using, which is a really neat one. So he's still thinking about keeping his bills paid and things like that. 

Pat, on the Big Island, however, is giving me the silent treatment. I can't think of anything I've said or done to anger him, and in fact had been sending him things like the good hospital-grade band-aids I'd been getting from the EMT place and he'd said they're useful. 

My theory is that, along with all the other things that make Pat's place unlivable for anyone normal and almost-unlivable for Pat, is that he lives day to day stewing in a hot tub of constant drama. I imagine each day a constant bicker-fest between Pat and his girlfriend or common-law wife, plus who knows what else he can raise in the way of discord, maybe his cats causing problems for the neighbors, or Pat pitching a bit because a neighbor grilled some hot dogs (Pat's so doctrinaire vegan that I can't even bring up the subject of fishing in emails) or something.