Yesterday morning at breakfast I read "The Whore of Mensa" by Woody Allen. It's a nice, short parody of those old dectective stories with an interesting twist.

Last night I had an incredible dream of a fish hatchery tour, worn red brick, a small college graduation, and being much younger, like twenty-one, and looking for an apartment to share with, I think, six other guys. Puget Sound was on the wrong side of Seattle and it seemed more like the Pacific Ocean because of the sand dunes, lighthouses, RVs, and the condominium we went to check-out. As nearly always, the overall theme was searching for something, but this dream had the added twist of bipolar detachment which occurred inside the fish hatchery where there was this complicated process of catching a salmon to take home; you could take four. Plus, I was aware of being detached and returning to full awareness. It was like my sense of time stopped, I was only aware of me and what I was doing; the rest of the dream didn't exist. When I returned the tour was backed up because other people wanted to catch their won salmon, but I had only caught three. Yet, that was okay because the wife doesn't like salmon; she says it makes her smell fishy. Maybe its a good thing I'm going to see the shrink next Thursday.

The physical therapist thinks maybe its time for a new knee. I'll wait for Ortho to give me an offer.

I am working on getting back to writing, but I don't know what I'll be working on first.