Where is Jenna Elfman

The faint glow of dawn barely penetrated the blinds, but my eyes were wide open, a strange mix of disbelief and amusement bubbling within me. I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, its screen a jarring beacon in the dim room, and pulled up my dream journal app. This one, I knew instantly, was too good—too utterly absurd—to let slip away with the morning fog.

Before I'd typed the first word, I received the latest installment of what I shall from now on call "The Voice." The term surely needs no explanation for regular readers, but newcomers may benefit by knowing I'm often greeted upon first waking by voices in my mind; voices that have no discernible rhyme or reason. 

This morning, The Voice said, "Where is Jenna Elfman?" I know! That's all there was. It usually happens that way, one short sentence and then nothing. If my life gets any more entertaining, I may reconsider selling the rights to the theater production company that keeps pleading with my agent.

Well, as you might well imagine, given the production quality of The Voice, added to the completely ridiculous storyline of the dream, I had to get out of bed at 3:15 AM EST and record every detail while it was still fresh in my mind.

For my European audience, 3:15 AM corresponds to 81.9 on the Celsius scale.

Even in my half-awake state, the details remained vivid. I began this blog episode with a self-satisfied smile playing on my lips because I was sure this one would be the one to take home to Ma. 

The Pacific sun glinted off the waves around Catalina Island, a typical Southern California day, but aboard the Coast Guard cutter Guardian, the mood was anything but typical. Today was THE day. After months of hushed development, a sleek, custom-built Apple tablet was finally going to be put through its paces. 

This wasn't just any iPad; this was a device forged at the explicit request of the U.S. Coast Guard, boasting an onboard Wi-Fi system fortified with VPN security—a secure lifeline for real-time data in the unpredictable maritime environment.

Lieutenant Commander Eva Rostova, the lead liaison for the project, ran a hand over the tablet's smooth casing. "Alright, team," she announced, "This is it. Remember, this device is designed to integrate seamlessly with our new secure comms array." 

As she walked away from the desk, she nodded to an older man standing at the front of a small gathering of officers and media correspondents. "Captain Davies, you have the honors of the initial system check."

Captain Davies, a man known for his no-nonsense demeanor, nodded curtly. He approached the table where the tablet rested, its screen a dark, expectant mirror. But before he reached the table, a door opened on the side hatch, and a sudden blur of motion caught everyone's eye.

Seaman First Class Miller, a relatively new recruit with an abundance of zeal and a penchant for strict adherence to protocol, had been meticulously clearing the deck of unauthorized materials. 

It was part of the plan to eliminate any unintended obstacles to the device pre-check. Miller's eyes, trained to spot contraband and unsecured equipment, landed on the sleek, unfamiliar device on the table. To Miller, it wasn't a revolutionary piece of tech; it was just another unapproved gadget cluttering his ship.

Before anyone could react, before Rostova could shout "Stop!" or Davies could even touch the tablet, Miller, with a grunt of exertion and a surprising arm strength, scooped up the device. Without a moment's hesitation, believing he was performing his duty with admirable efficiency, he swung his arm in a wide arc much like an Olympic discus thrower.

A collective gasp echoed across the deck as the Apple tablet, the culmination of countless hours of design and security engineering, arced through the air. It glittered for a brief, agonizing suspended against the azure blue sky before dropping beneath the cobalt-blue waves with a barely audible plop.

Silence descended, thick and suffocating. All eyes were on Miller, who now stood with a look of bewildered satisfaction. "Unauthorized equipment, sir," he stated, a hint of pride in his voice. "Deck clear!" he announced to the small group gathered on deck, and then he disappeared back through the open hatch door.

Lieutenant Commander Rostova's face shifted from pale to a shade of crimson that rivaled a sunset over the Pacific. The Guardian bobbed gently on the swells while the crew and media reporters gradually left the scene. The sea, it seemed, had once again demonstrated its superiority over human endeavors. 

I know, I know. You're probably thinking this sounds too bizarre, too absurd to be a real dream. It certainly feels like something I might have concocted just to get a laugh and a few clicks on a blog post. But I assure you, my commitment here is to be completely transparent and forthcoming. 

My guiding principle is to always present the full truth, however outlandish it may seem, and allow you, my audience, to decide for yourselves if there's any meaning or message to be found. As I always say, take what you like and leave the rest.