I remember two dreams from last night, but neither is sharp enough or coherent enough to properly record it. The first was about air travel. I was stranded at the airport in Kansas City, of all places. On my way from New York to Seattle with two other fellows, only I had the wrong ticket. Our plane was about to leave, and I was struggling to get on it. The second dream was about some complex planning project in which I played a part. The project had to be finished on time, but there were all kinds of difficulties that made that unlikely. My job was to provide some kind of drawings, but I had to fight with security personnel to get the keys to the room where the project documentation was stored. Again, time was running out. In both cases I woke up before the dream came to its sorry conclusion, as most often happens. But this morning I wonder about something else. I wonder about the curse of modern life, which follows me even here in Istria, where I neither work nor travel. Besides, I refuse to either work or travel from now on. Come to think of it, nightmares like these may follow me until I reach sixty-five, the proper retirement age.