Mandatory distribution

    Last December, when things were very much going to h-e-double-toothpicks in a handbasket, Dad was sent a check from his Keogh. I just assumed it was junk mail and didn't notice there was a check in there until more than six months later, by which time it was no longer valid. The cover letter says that he had sold some number of shares for this amount of money. By that time, Dad was in, "Is this Thursday? Is this Thursday? Is this Thursday?" mode, so I am confident that he didn't sell any shares of anything and that this is just their form letter for a mandatory distribution check.
    Fast forward to now. One of the giant big fun things my siblings and I had to do amidst the blizzard of paperwork to distribute the Keogh was with regard to the mandatory distribution. But of course it was a different dollar amount than the check from last December. When I did notice that there was a check in the envelope, I called and asked if they could reissue it, but was told that they had to have the entire blizzard of paperwork before they could even talk to me about it. Since the figure is larger than last December's, I assume that in includes the amount from the check. And I will be calling to confirm this. If so, that would be nice, since if I had actually deposited the check last December, I would have inherited it in toto, which is hardly fair. It's nice to share.
    Last night's dreams were of course weird and bizarre. First, it was really, really, really, really important to replace a pair of pants that had become too tight with ones of the same size. Now in real life, I've already had years and years of the slowly growing waist, followed by maintaining a stable smaller size during the entire gluten-free period. If it all starts again, I'm confident I'll be able to cope. Or, you know, go back on the smack.
    Then there was the usual thing where I had another apartment in another city that I had totally forgotten about. This time it was Charleston, very convenient to a completely imaginary terrible college. I wanted to move there; I still do. There was the usual business about an incredibly inconvenient mailbox (this one more or less in the middle of the sidewalk) with the added interest of some kind of girlfriend person not interested in moving to Charleston, making her more or less unique in the history of the world. I don't think there was any resolution.