old skills for old age

I wake up remembering a dream again. Some plane or car has crashed into a building. It isn't that serious, though. Then I'm going from room to room trying to get computers to work. In one room all the equipment (connected with a nest of wires) is connected to an outlet that switches off when the lights go out. I'm trying to fix this. I pull on a wire and the next jostles like something alive. There are splitters and connectors of all sorts. Then I'm standing on the second story of the building, looking out. It's sort of an attic or garage with junk around including an old car. Outside I can see some foreign-looking people in a camper. They have dark skin and look exotic with robes. The children are spreading out white head coverings that catch the light.

My intention (oh, my intentions!) is to to go the club and workout and then go to the racquetball clinic. Remember my resolution? Yes, I need some sport to keep me interested in staying fit.

But, of course, I get to the club just in time for the clinic. The goggles are falling apart and the little metal buckle that adjusts the strap is rusty. My racquet looks like an antique compared to the other folks. I don't remember the rules exactly. It's a good clinic. He shows us how to serve, how to practice different shots, strategy. I remember that the reason I could play both racquetball and tennis was that I had a forehand in racquetball and a backhand in tennis. You can play both sports, just not from both sides. Maybe I'll use what he taught us (I think I learned this once before) to practice some racquetball just to run around a little. I still want to play tennis but the last couple of days...who would have wanted to? It's been cold and wet.

At home I have a snack. (Yes, there was cheese in there.) I shower up. I think a friend of mine is going to call about three and I am going to give her some material scraps (for possible quilting) and we are going to talk about Berlin.

While I wait for her call, I work on the journal and start making a birthday card for a friend for her birthday next week. Remember this: less is more. I didn't. The project goes badly but I finish it. I hardly ever buy cards anymore. It's the thought that counts, isn't it? Well, isn't it?

I need to start on something homemade for my great-nephew's birthday but I just think about that. I try to straigthen up some of the mess in my office. I don't get far but I do get one box off the floor and into the closet. I do this by emptying another box. It had in it, among other things, old backups on 5 1/4 disks. I don't even have a drive. Well, actually I do have one in an old computer in the garage that has, I think, a crashed hard drive. I've thought of putting this drive in another machine to see if I could get one working on the extremely off chance that I would want to read one. These old backups are useless, though. I try to get rid of some of the papers and magazines in my office. But, of course, I have to stop and actually read stuff.

There is a new treatment for psoraisis I read in one of these papers. It is very expensive, has the potential side effect of lowering your T cells and letting you get infections. You'd have to have a truly debiliating case of it to resort to this, I think. I am such a medical nihlist anyway. I know psoraisis is an auto-immune disorder but I still believe it can respond to being ignored. (I also believe aloe vera by mouth helps but I don't like to take anything so I don't try this regimen too seriously either.)