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5:36 PM - 30.01.05
Thought
I dreamt that I was chaperoning a junior high field trip somewhere in Southern Europe. We seemed to be going through an old palace or cathedral - maybe a combination of the two. Sort of a Moorish style of construction I think. Opulent colours, some of which one doesn't see in waking life. Along the lines of golds and rich creams, but translucent. Emanating light instead of reflecting it. A fire broke out somewhere in the "west wing" and it was a real tight squeeze to get all the students who were on the second floor in an area that looked like catacombs, out safely. I noticed my doctor was with the group. Some of the girls split off and ended up outside on a rooftop garden hidden from anyone's knowledge - even the curators. It was as though the fire, then the water sprayed to protect the intact walls had somehow dissolved a hidden doorway. The doctor went with the main group, while I followed the girls to protect them. The doctor shouted that I should call him at home when I had everyone safe and accounted for.

The scene shifted and I was just arriving back in my own home with my youngest and fourth sons present. It was around midnight and I was dithering about calling the doctor so late, but I had promised. Something had subtley shifted and it seemed the fire had been in the school gym at the dance instead of overseas. Parallel or virtual realities? Couldn't say. Deja vu somehow though. When his phone rang he answered, obviously out of a deep sleep. It took a couple of minutes for him to understand what I was talking about and I was feeling tremendously guilty. He said to wait and next thing I knew he was at my door. In the dream he lived just down the street from me - not in this life. He was standing there with his clipboard, wearing his white lab coat and stethoscope around his neck. He wanted me to go through the list of missing students to enumerate their physical condition for him. I began and the dream ended. Weird.

Friday my favorite busker - Tom Pirosik - was at my train station at the end of the day. He was singing "Bottle of Wine" and it was hard to tell his voice from the original singer's (can't recall who right now) but he can also soften it and sing a lot of the really great rock ballads as well. I don't understand why he isn't recorded. He sometimes is at my home side station too. I know that all the buskers have to be licenced and are assigned different rotations - I'm not sure exactly how it's decided.

At the optometrist's, the woman who was working reception was really interested in the book I was reading. I was happy to explain, but I also was in a really interesting spot and wanted to continue on reading. Settled in and got called in right away for my appointment. Never fails - show up with nothing to read and end up waiting for a couple of hours, or show up with something riveting and there's no time to get to the end of the chapter. The one piece of advice from the doctor. You're too tired, go home and sleep all weekend. Could I have a note, please sir, to that effect?

I didn't write yesterday, dear diary, because I was still processing Friday's chain of events. While I was walking from the train to the doctor's I checked my cell phone's voicemail. My supervisor must have called just as I was preparing to leave work and I'd missed him. He said that he wasn't having any trouble getting the power switch to work. That may be so - maybe the 15 to 20 minute walk had jarred whatever was blocking it loose, but my Dad, my brother, the boys' Dad and one of my sons all work in the electronics/computer field. I helped my ex learn the boolean algebra necessary to apply to the work. I know that switch was jammed when I took it in. I had been using the butt end of a pen to try and get it to work but the force I was using appeared to be nearly too much for the plastic toggle to withstand. I wasn't going to be more aggressive and then have the added problem of that piece being broken as well. I could have asked my tech, since the Client's tech weren't responding to my calls, but at that point I didn't want to have anyone other than someone who one of the companies had hired for the work involved in case something else went wrong. My supervisor didn't sound very pleased, and I can understand that, but it just fuelled the original paranoia about how it came to be jammed in the first place. Not being able to respond to his comments also was frustrating.

Since no one else looked at the laptop while it was stuck, I have no witness as proof of the problem. I've mentioned before, dear diary, that when a female of the Scottish persuasion is really upset or stressed one can often see a house being vigously cleaned and that is what I spent yesterday doing. Burns off some of the adrenaline - the fight or flight surge - that has no place else to go. I got going so fast I ended up twisting my ankle into the bargain. Must be that Pluto Mars conjunction in action - right? I still don't know what to think, but I don't think I'll be leaving that work station for any reason anymore while I'm doing the data entry. I don't have any other strategies. Since I have been locking up my "desk in a bag" in that one drawer, there have been no further incidents with tampering with my purse but I can't lock up the client's PC each time I walk away from the station can I? I also hope my supervisor is more forgiving than he sounded on Friday. I haven't done anything wrong, in fact all I've done is worked my fingers till they and my wrists and arms ached, but sometimes that doesn't matter, does it? Don't know what tomorrow will bring, but I guess I just soldier on as best I can - nose to the grindstane and bagpipes wailing. Lead On MacDuff.

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