Feb. 25th, 2017

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I had wanted to sleep in a bit this morning, and managed to stay in bed until 7:45. I had a 9:00 appointment with the tax guy today. Malida usually goes with me, but she had to be at work at 4:30 this morning. Yikes! She doesn't always have to be there that early, but she doesn't seem to mind much. I could not have a job that asked me to be there at 4:30.

I have been going to the same tax guy for 25 years now. He used to live across the street from me when I was in my first house. It was when I bought a house that I decided I needed a tax guy. We spend about half the time looking at the taxes and the other half chatting about what is going on in our lives.

We are going to have to pay again this year. We had to pay a bunch last year, and increased our withholding, which was good, but then Malida got a raise, and made quite a bit more. Which was good too, but we have to pay taxes on it. Which is not so good. In any case, it is not an insurmountable burden.

In the afternoon I decided to forgo homework until tomorrow after our noodles. I went shopping so I could cook for dinner, had lunch, and then had a nice nap.

The nap was interesting. In it, I was 14 years old and walking to my high school for classes. What was interesting is how vivid it was, and all the details I remembered about the walk to the school, which was about a mile from my house.

In the dream, I went to classes and paid attention, and wanted to do good, which was not the case in real life. The dream kind of played out until I was about 15. there weren't really very many other people in the dream except a few of my teachers. In the dream, I was in history class with Mr. Remington. It was the day he showed us the films that were taken during the liberation of the concentration camps.

This actually happened. I remember that day clearly. How he closed the drapes and then told us he had something important to show us. How quiet the room was, even before he started the film. And how quiet the room was when the film ended. A few years ago we were back in Germany, standing in the ruins of Dachau, and I remembered that film, and the teacher who taught me about what had happened there.

In my dream, I raised my hand and asked a question. I asked how the German people could have let that happen. Why didn't they speak up? There was no dream answer.

After the nap I made dinner and prepared a playlist to play for my second life friends.

sucker

This is a painting at the top of the stairs in my tax guy's office building.

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