Dream 557: Hackburger Bookcapsule

07.07.2018 § Leave a comment

I wake up in the morning and check Facebook to discover that something was posted to my wall sometime overnight by myself. It’s a “Time Capsule” post, meaning that I set it up years ago to go off on this date at that time. I don’t recall setting up this Time Capsule post, but then I suppose that’s part of the fun, right? Being transported back into a mindset you used to have, and being surprised by it?

However, there’s a problem. The post is about my ex-girlfriend from the time – 11 years ago. I say that wherever I am now, I am getting some “side action” from her. And the post has been up long enough to be noticed and Liked from a few of my friends, and her herself! Of course, I have a serious girlfriend now, and she will not be happy at all to see this…

I frantically delete the post, and rush to my bedroom to destroy any other Time Capsule posts that might be laying in wait to ruin my life. I throw up the refrigerator door under my bed to find the formaldehyde tub where I keep them. Two others remain, in the form of fast food hamburgers. I reach into the vat without any protective gloves and toss the burgers out. Phew.

Now that that’s taken care of, I take a moment to reflect on things. It occurs to me – wait a second – why would I have said I was getting “side action” from my distant ex? If I, 11 years ago, was trying to sign a contract with myself to stick together with this girl until at least this point in the future, why would I describe continuing romance with her as “side action” to someone else? The whole thing smells of foul play.

Indeed, searching my email for related threads, I find that a couple other of my friends have been victim of the same hacker. I’m the only one who was vulnerable to the Time Capsule attack and had that one exploited; there are a couple other related Facebook tricks that can be pulled and have been pulled by this wrongdoer on my online social community. So now I don’t feel so bad about it.

I’m in my ex-girlfriend’s parents’ house from way back in the day, even further than 11 years ago, at the top of the stairs on the carpeted second floor landing, seemingly at a slumber party she’s having with her girlfriends back in high school from when I met her. We’re all in t-shirts and underwear. I lift up my shirt to expose my fat tummy and she walks away in silence as I concede that I am as fat as I have ever been nowadays.

I’m on a futuristic cartoon train clad in warm grey and burnt orange panels, but I can’t get from one car to the next. She’s on another car but I can’t get to her and she doesn’t seem to care.


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