Flutter, Flutter, Sputter, Sputter, Mutter, Mutter

I'm having One of Those Days.

Things are ... misbehaving ... around here. My Quicken program is not doing what it's supposed to (and I've been on Hold with Tech Support so many times the past few days I feel somewhat incarcerated--or appearing in that Sartre play No Exit where I have to listen to syrupy and sometimes bouncy instrumental music for the rest of my life). I thought I had it all fixed yesterday. And was feeling spiffy and even a tad arrogant.

But it ain't workin' right today. ("Rage, rage against the dying ....")

Another program--Excel--has somehow gotten messed up. I use it for our home library (and we have thousands of books), but lately I've noticed that the authors and titles don't always line up--or the publisher and date and price.

This has not generated in me any pacific feelings. ("Rage, rage ....")

And what's truly annoying: The one common factor in these problems with Quicken and Excel ... is .. Daniel Osborn Dyer.

Not a comforting realization.

Also ... I'm tired.

As I've gotten older and less sturdy medically, I wear out ... fast. The past couple of weeks there have been a more-than-wonted number (and a more-than-wanted number) of responsibilities--things I just must do. Mixed in are some things I want to do, sure--like go see (as we did last night with our son and his family) a production of The Legend of Sleepy Hollow down at the Magical Theatre in Barberton, Ohio--about a half-hour away.

So this morning, I find myself fluttering around like a puzzled or even injured bird. Looking for a place to land, to fluff my feathers, to close my eyes, to let Morpheus arrive with some balmy dreams.

But last night, Morpheus arrived with a balmy dream about my falling into the Niagara River just above the Falls. Nice. (I wrote a doggerel about it and posted it on FB this morning--a sure way to lose Friends in a hurry!)

And hanging over all? My own personal sword of Damocles--viz., the knowledge that in only a couple of hours I have to go out to the health club. I dread working out in my Latter Years (it used to be fun--with the added attraction of my feeling virtuous, even superior, afterward).

Now ... it's dreary and hard and depressing.

But I know what it means if I stop going. It means a fall into the Niagara River, just above the Falls.