Iíve been reading a lot lately. As seen on the Reads Blog that I seem to make 98% of the posts to. Reading is the ultimate distraction (as far as things I can do alone go). With the headphones, its almost total sensory replacement. I need to work on the smell-o-vision.
From today's San Francisco Chronicle:
"I've been doing this for a long time and I don't see anything out there that's a silver bullet to kill the vampire."
Neal O'Haire, emergency services manager for Napa County.
Last night I dreamt I was chatting online. Someone I didn't expect would want to talk to me invited me into a private chat room. They'd named the room "confusion." When I tried to type my fingers couldn't find the right keys. I ended up sitting on the sidewalk, drawing letters with one finger onto a flat surface through a layer of salmon colored jersey knit. Even then it was almost impossible to communicate.
Obviously none of my dreams are in any way symbolic.
Isnít it fucking always?
I spent a portion of yesterday telling myself to relax, convincing myself nothing was wrong. Reminding myself that expecting the worst is just leads to paranoid fantasies. Everything is fine! Sure someone would like you that much. Youíre awesome! Nothing has changed in 2 days! All is well!
But sometimes it isnít paranoia. Sometimes itís intuition.
After so long itís hard to tell them apart. You gotta wonder if it isnít time to just give up, but even then, you canít run away from every direction at once.
Tivo is there for me though. A small monthly fee for endless companionship.
I think this is enough self indulgence for one post/day. People die or they leave, and there isn't anything you can do about it.
Last night I dreamt I was a man obsessed with violence. I met a friend in a basement workshop and at every turn a dangerous accident would cause a grievous wound. The theme was a strange combination of power tools and acrobatics. I rarely dream I am a man, let alone a man who flies through the air, nail gunning my own foot to the ceiling necessitating ripping my leg free at the ankle, foot still dangling christlike from a beam.
I jumped out a window, flew by flapping my arms to the roof of a house, and stayed on a small square of roof over a balcony. Others came to find me and kill me. I donít know if they got me. Though Iíd already flown once, I knew I couldnít fly by flapping my arms this time and would crash lamely into the dirt.