From: dicksilk@gmail.com   
      
   So the last week has been rather hectic (compared to most weeks past, for the   
   past few years) as there has been a concerted effort to move Mom into a   
   retirement community (her "Happy Home") *both* for *her* own good, as well as   
   mine, as her overall    
   affect has deteriorated beyond my ability to cope.  That, and all the   
   *excellent* plans my father had made before he died all sort of just *came to   
   fruition* all at once:  the accounts he'd had socked away (along with Mom's   
   contributions, I'm sure) are    
   all being diverted to her senior senior senior years (she just turned 94, and   
   has been going downhill a bit faster every day.  It's my *hope* that this new   
   environment will *add some new life* to her experience-meter / will to live.)   
      
   Turns out, she *thinks* she moved into this house in February of '64.  That   
   means she's lived here for *SIXTY YEARS* as of this month!  (I only have 2,   
   maybe 3 memories of my time on Leaf Avenue *before* moving into this location.)   
      
   At any rate, this morning, I had a rather curious dream clip that involved   
   something like a Q-tip (dipped in rubbing alcohol) and two ears that *looked*   
   like little versions of me, but roughly "yea high" — so imagine something   
   the size of a human ear.     
   Now imagine it has feet, yet no real legs, just feet, and no arms, just hands,   
   and the face of a person (boy? man? me?) in the place where the lobe of the   
   ear is typically viewed.   
      
   The dreamer used a Q-tip (likely soaked in alcohol) to "pop off" / swab up the   
   two ears / creatures, one at a time, and off they skittered.  (Clarity:   
   peculiar!)   
      
   I'm fairly certain there was another dream in there, but it's long since   
   evaporated due to the arduous nature of the week, especially this morning /   
   today.   
      
   I'm *beat!*   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)