Smooth Sailing Tuesday

The day is going better. Not quite as frenetically paced. The septic guys got here early. Instead of 12 to 6 window, they called at 1030 and were here by 1115, gone by 1145. Of course, they wanted to upsell me, so I went for the lower-priced field treatment to "dissolve solids" in the drain field.

I doubt it works but it cost $150 and if something went wrong later and I looked back on it, I would have paid $150 for a blessing from the local priest, so little is lost.

Ended yesterday with an email from my domain server saying my company email accounts had been frozen because some malware was doing mass spamming from my address. I tried to sort it out last night but it was beyond my patience and skill to do over a distance connection, so I dropped it until this morning.

The task this morning was broken up between a bunch of other things, including team septic tank, an email from Mark Hurley, transferring money between accounts to cover payments and a couple other things. I think I got it sorted. I went back into my main email accounts, about 8 of them and put in strong passwords, then made the change changes in my Outlook.

I think I'm almost even with things again. That makes me behind on writing my story. I'm experiencing heavy internal resistance. There should be a name for that. That compulsion to go through old user manuals rather than write. Once writing, I'm happy and fulfilled and feel like I have a purpose in life. It's just a matter of getting there. I woke up this morning, feeling depressed and behind and kidding myself, and worthless and fooling only myself about what I was doing. To everyone else, I'm retired and puttering about with stupid pointless stories. My only defense as I sat on the bed and thought depressing thoughts was that those thoughts are like the tides. Given a little time, the recede on their own and I shouldn't give up things too quickly.

I had a variant on the old dream this morning. In the house of my grandfather, who this time was a doctor of some kind. It was a cluttered bunch of small unevenly shaped rooms with things left as they were a hundred years ago. There was some kind of ongoing effort to make it livable by living in it. I saw the guy who was living there and I asked him if he thought there was any hope of making it a comfortable space. I don't remember his answer. I only remember being lead through the house, being appalled and a little scared. I was sure that somewhere in the place was the casket containing at least my grandfather, which one, I don't know.

It was sort of like the dream I've had since I was a kid. Tables set and forgotten. Having to walk around boxes and stuff discarded on the floor. Sometimes the path would lead to the roof area where there would be walkways on the roof itself, where I would walk around in the evening light or at night. In this one, we walked out a back door which was a loading dock type area but not nearly as organized. A rickety narrow deck and stairway. There was a human skull lying on the deck in amongst some leaves and pieces of wood. I also looked down and kicked aside some trash and saw either a humerus or a femur made the observation to the other person, "a long bone."

Neither of us were too alarmed by any of it. There was some assumption that the place had been used for dissections or some scientific studies like that and it wasn't kept too well. I remember thinking I would like to pick up the skull and have a closer look at it, but I didn't because I wasn't sure how long it had been laying there and I didn't know whether it had been properly prepared, i.e.-whether it was empty and clean.

After I awoke, I tried to put the parts of the dream back together to try to make more of it. There was also something about a gun involved. I can't remember what it was about though.

When I have these dreams I can remember dreams like them going all the way back to my childhood and the time after I went to the funeral home with my dad to see my grandfather. I would have been 5 years old. I remember exactly how it looked and being so short my dad had to lift me up to see into the casket. He said, "You see. It looks just like he's sleeping." But I knew he wasn't. I remember the lighting and the sound and the smells of the place. It was quiet, so very quiet inside there. There was a short pile carpet and the lights were all indirect. The smell was floral but in a cloying, chemical way.

I remember thinking how odd it was that he was supposed to look like that forever.

More later,