Z has given me his summer cold, which, in addition to three days of angry stomach, is making it impossible to sleep for more than a few hours at a time.
I dreamt that I invented a device called the Etruscan Head Clamp. It looked like a gladiator helmet. The EHC was used on customers who check out samples of carpet & linoleum & it would squeeze one's head like a vice until the samples were returned to the flooring department.
I can feel the anxiety creeping back into my brain like squiggly little baby spiders. This begins with a random twitch here & there, followed by another & another until suddenly I am overwhelmed by the swarming, wriggling sensation of ick. Maybe it's the heat. The world seems like a very cranky place these days. Everybody needs a cookie. Or a frozen margarita.
I was working in the garden center today & a little girl of about eight or so told me You are very unlucky to have this job. I replied Things could always be worse. I feel lucky to be working at all, even if it means being outside in the 90 degree heat.
I am having difficulty making sense of things. Also: I could really, really use a lemon-lime slushie right about now, but I think they're pretty hard to come by at 4 a.m. so I shall have to settle for a glass of ice water.
I feel as though I have reached a point where I lack the necessary drive to succeed at anything but this may be an illusion. The Moon has appeared in my last two tarot readings, so it's possible that I am letting my imagination mess with my head these days.
Susan Slaviero lives on the cusp of a hellmouth, where she vanquishes evil with poetry and cupcakes. She hopes to someday land a job as either a dog whisperer or a telephone psychic. In the meantime, she writes. She has a fondness for esoterica.