I've been listening to Vespertine every night again. Or, sometimes, like the last couple of days, every morning.
That album is a lot of things to me, but is one of the most comforting and effectively sleep-inducing things I have, so much so that I am not anywhere as familiar with the end of the album.
I remember where I got it, I remember when I listened to it, I remember when I forgot about it, I remember when I rediscovered it, I remember listening to it every night on a ship, and now I have it again, soothing me at the end of my day about when you wake up and the day feels broken.. it's really one of the most lasting gorgeous songs I know. The whole album. I beam and cry.
I had a tooth pulled a week ago, which means we are now a week off cigarettes, and I am optimistic but now I am trying to undo the chain from the couch and that means confronting the next phase of triggers. I believe that we can do this. I want more money and better lungs. But the physical addiction is easier for me to break than the mental, and now I will start fiending and bargaining. Now is the real trial. Tenuous success. I'll be convinced in more of a 4-6 week range. Fingers crossed, toes too. Because it's time to deal with this fucking health shit, even in the middle of all this everything else going on. The stuff I feel like I've imagined, the stuff that is so real it cannot be ignored.
Not smoking results in strong dreams. The start of the week was a recurring dream turned on its head - it was the most reconciliatory version that has ever occurred, and I'm glad I woke up briefly to realize it wasn't real before going back to sleep for awhile, or I would have been further depressed upon waking. Normally those dreams don't come anywhere near each other, but the next night they returned and I was back to running away in fear and shame. And the night before last was a long terrifying stretch of running from operatives trying to throw me in a van.
None of this is okay. It never has been and now it is escalating to a level where my brain questions reality. Beset by gaslamps on all sides. All I can do is keep my hands clean. Donate what little money I have. Vote in the primary for local offices (and obviously.. the later one). Have challenging conversations where I can. Keep learning, listening. I have better masks now, I'll go to the street this time - I pray to whoever listens that they convict that motherfucker, but I prepare for what happens if they don't. Do what I can to hold city council to their word, whatever that is. They think they've identified the umbrella man who started the fires. I watched it happen. I still haven't talked about it. What is there to say? My calendar says it's been nine weeks and three days. The manic response has settled to a continued heightened dis-ease. I try to keep track as time bends.
I just want everyone to be okay, but I am not the empress