I don’t have much of anything to write about this morning. I haven’t done anything particularly interesting lately, and I don’t have any future plans that might make for an interesting post either.

If the weather is nice on Saturday—and it’s supposed to be—maybe I’ll drive up to Lake Willoughby and go for a hike. The lake is a fjord-like glacial lake in Westmore, Vermont, framed by Mount Pisgah and Mount Hor. It’s an incredibly beautiful place, and I haven’t been up there in a while. We’ll see if I get energetic enough to actually make the trip.

Otherwise, there just hasn’t been much interesting going on lately. Work has been boring. Life has pretty much been boring. And, frankly, I’m just bored.

I wish I had a history post for y’all this week, but inspiration hasn’t struck, so I don’t have one planned. A history post isn’t something I can really force. I want y’all to find the topic interesting, and I don’t think I can make it interesting for anyone else if I don’t find it interesting myself.

So, sorry for the rambling and probably somewhat melancholic post this morning, but it’s all I’ve got for today. Maybe Saturday will bring a little scenery, fresh air, and inspiration. We’ll see.

It was awfully hard to get out of bed this morning. Not because I was especially tired—though I certainly wasn’t eager to face Thursday—but because I was having a rather… enjoyable dream. Let’s just say it was the sort of dream that makes waking up feel like an interruption rather than the start of a new day.

I wasn’t completely asleep, but I wasn’t fully awake either. You know that wonderful hazy state where your dream is still hanging around, just waiting for you to drift back into it if you don’t move too much. There really ought to be a word for that in-between place. If there is, I’d like to spend more time there.

As you might imagine, one part of me had already decided it was time to greet the morning, even if the rest of me hadn’t. Morning optimism, I suppose.

There was a strong temptation to stay right where I was and let the dream slowly become a daydream. After all, why rush into reality when your subconscious is doing such a fine job of keeping you entertained? I figured I could enjoy a few more minutes under the covers while… appreciating the situation.

Unfortunately, Isabella has absolutely no sympathy for these kinds of personal dilemmas.

When breakfast is five minutes late, she begins poking at me with her paw as if to say, “Excuse me, your priorities are all wrong.” Personally, I’d have much preferred to continue dreaming about being poked by someone a little less furry than my persistent feline companion.

Well… perhaps a bit furry in all the best places.

Eventually, duty won. Isabella got her breakfast, I got out of bed, and the dream faded into that frustrating place where you can remember just enough to know it was good but not enough to request a sequel tonight.

Now all that’s left is coffee, a shower, and wondering whether tonight’s dreams will be kind enough to continue where this morning’s left off. Here’s hoping tonight’s dream gets a sequel—and that my furry alarm clock waits until the closing credits have rolled before deciding breakfast is more important than my subconscious.

Monday mornings always seem to arrive a little too quickly. I wish I could wake up on a Monday actually looking forward to the week ahead. Instead, here I am with my usual routine—watching the news, drinking a cup of coffee, and mentally preparing myself for another work week.

One of my coworkers is on vacation this week, and another won’t be back in the office until Wednesday. That means I’ll have the museum to myself today. I usually enjoy the quiet, but first I have to find the motivation to get ready and head out the door. Eventually, the coffee will do its job, and a hot shower will wake me up the rest of the way.

If I could choose where to wake up this morning, though, it definitely wouldn’t be here. I’d much rather be in Montreal. I’d love to spend a week north of the border, with enough time to take a day trip—or maybe even spend a night—in Quebec City. I’ve visited Montreal in the spring and in the fall, but I don’t think I’ve ever been there during the summer. I imagine the cafés bustling, the parks full of people, and long evenings strolling through Old Montreal or the Village, people-watching and admiring all the handsome men passing by before settling in for a leisurely dinner on a patio.

Maybe someday. Until then, it’s a pleasant little daydream to help get me through the Monday blahs. I hope everyone has a wonderful week!

Yesterday, I wrote about catalogs, department store underwear sections, and the advertisements that gave many of us our earliest glimpses of the male body before the internet existed. Judging by the comments, I wasn’t the only one who remembers those innocent little moments that weren’t quite so innocent.

As I was thinking about yesterday’s post, my mind started wandering a little farther down memory lane. Those catalogs and advertisements certainly caught my attention, but they weren’t the only things that occupied the imagination of a very horny teenage boy. Looking back, I can remember a few guys who found their way into my fantasies, but there was one in particular who seemed to appear again and again. He dominated my teenage imagination in a way no one else ever did.

But those memories are about more than teenage hormones. They’re also about a young man trying to understand feelings he didn’t yet have the language to describe. I knew I was different long before I admitted it to myself, and those fantasies were part of how I slowly came to recognize what my heart had been trying to tell me all along. Looking back now, I can smile at that confused, curious teenager who was simply trying to make sense of desires that felt both exciting and frightening.

I think that’s a post of its own.

Not because it’s some dramatic story, but because it’s one of those memories that deserves a little reflection. So many of us who grew up before the internet pieced together our understanding of attraction from fleeting glimpses, innocent crushes, and private fantasies that we never dared tell another soul. Looking back now, those memories are amusing, a little embarrassing, and, perhaps most of all, an important part of discovering who we were.

Unfortunately, this morning isn’t the best time to take that stroll down memory lane. I woke up with a bit of a headache. Thankfully, it doesn’t seem to be anything serious—certainly not serious enough to call in sick—but it’s enough that I’m moving a little slower than usual. Coffee is doing its best to help.

So, I’ll save those memories for another morning when I can do them justice. After all, some walks down memory lane are worth taking slowly.

I hope everyone has a wonderful Thursday.