A Magic USB Drive

I dreamed again last night about a magic USB drive. If I held it in my hand and thought hard about the files I wanted, then plugged the drive into my computer, the files would be there. A finished version of the YA novel I’ve been working on sporadically, the tech books I’m either struggling with or just wishing for—they would just be there, fully formed and ready to share with the world, along with the complete source code of the extensible programming tools I’ve wanted for the last 20 years and the albums Ike Quebec never recorded.

Then the exuberance of the birds in our back yard woke me up and I had to return a world in which my hands hurt when I type and my brain hurts when I word. Iffy won’t escape from Antarctica by magic; the errors and inconsistencies in STJS and BST won’t correct themselves, and as for the programming tools and jazz, you can only have everything you want in dreams and sometimes not even then.

But the birds sound happy and the rain has stopped long enough that I can get in a good bike ride. I may not dream about things like that, but I enjoy them. Time to start my day…

In the wake of posts about Shopify's support for white nationalists and DataCamp's attempts to cover up sexual harassment
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