backforthmenu Technology. My dad orders a high-powered graphics computer for the house and it comes in and he puts it together keeping me at arms length though he knows nothing about how to they work. After the hardware is put together he tells me it needs to be washed—that someone told him to wash the entire unit in the water. He gets in the bathtub and takes the computer with him. He gently pushes the large rectangular machine around in the warm water, cleansing it like a child. In my mind I’m picturing every intricate, expensive part inside melting and popping. After he finishes, he sets the computer up in my bedroom. It’s a small bedroom with barely any floor space around the bed, which sits on the floor. The table for the computer is custom-made and its top is just a foot or so over the floor, at bed level. I start to become depressed. Dream, 5/6/98