Last night I dreamt that some partner, I think it was my friend Jill from Columbia (who has been living in Moscow for a couple of years teaching Russian), had basically sold our financial planning practice to another guy who used Raymond James rather than Charles Schwab as a custodian. This happened while I was away -- I think I was in prison or something like that, maybe it was just jail, or maybe just a long vacation.
This fucked me up for a couple of reasons: my split was going to be about 10% lower than it currently is, plus I knew that switching not just firms but custodians was going to make for a buttload of paperwork and, inevitably, the loss of a few clients. So my income could easily drop by 20%.
One saving grace was that the new firm's owner was going to be doing all of the Social Security claims analysis for our clients himself. He had some really good software.
I actually dreamed this, people. How pathetic and boring is that? The loss of income itself would not be fatal, indeed I of course need to be able to sustain drops of 20% of revenue given how tied I am to the vagaries of the markets, but the feeling of needless loss of control was dispiriting at best: I've worked hard for the money and it vindicates the effort I've made.
When I woke up I could tell I had been sleeping the sleep of the dead/just, being still quite tired from a couple of days of driving and then from going out for a bike ride around mid-day. My weight had gone the wrong direction somehow while road-tripping through the deep South and investigating some regional delicacies.
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