my dreams have been electrifyingly vivid these days: lots about my mom. my drunk aunt barring me from my mom’s hospital room, denying me; my mom believing her. bright spreadsheets, my cat, dream-imposter versions of people I barely talk to. complicated story lines. I wake up exhausted a lot lately, tempered only by the presence of my partner, whom I often wrap around in those first moments of opening my eyes as a sort of grounding. never has anyone read me so well or loved me so completely. I’m grateful and terrified all at once. but mostly grateful.

surface noise out of the way, I’m finally able to dig deep into the recesses of Who I Am and How I Got That Way and What Am I Doing About It and all that. there’s much to navigate here but the rewards are staggering, and the dreams that go with them come in technicolor I guess.

today I felt the weight of the holidays press into the space between my shoulders as I walked from the bus towards work. I’m not ready to push into it yet.

I’ve made psychosomatic connections to said dreams and my new affinity with fresca, but I’m probably wrong.

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