Last night, I got a text at 2 AM. I rolled over and groggily checked my phone. The text just said "fuck you". I laughed and went back to sleep. 

When I woke up, the text was gone. I don't think it was ever really there. I think I only dreamed it. I have a Do Not Disturb mode that kicks on between 11 PM and 7 AM so only a select few people can actually trigger my notifications, and this person wasn't one of them. 

I've heard that people aren't supposed to be able to read in dreams. Something about how the language processing part of the brain is a different area than the part where dreams happen. 

I don't know much about it. I can read in dreams. Maybe because my eyes are weird. 

I have "Visual Snow Syndrome." I see static when I close my eyes. I also see it when I open my eyes. Except it doesn't interfere with my vision. It's... underneath everything. 

I don't know what any of this means. 

Surely it's nothing to worry about. 

Goodnight! Sweet dreams. 

 There's a sword-fighting gym that I have been meaning to check out. Er, Historical European Martial Arts gym. (They also teach you how to use a polearm, which we all know is the far superior weapon.) While I do secretly long to be an amazing swordfighter, my primary reason is to find something I can do with my nephews and friends that is also a kind of "moving-around" activity that could promote health if done regularly. Like an exercise, but not boring. And it has the built-in motivation of getting to hit people. 

And you get to wear armor!

Oh, I'm here. Winding down for the evening. I'm quite cozy in this chair. Feels like I could fall asleep right here. That would be a funny thing. Because I'd fall out of the chair at some point. My reflexes are pretty good though. I'm sure I'd wake up in time to appreciate the full impact of hitting the floor.

Bedtime. Goodnight!

***

Okay I'm back. I didn't like how we left things, so here I am again. I'm not fooling myself into thinking something magical is going to happen this time, but maybe we can make a better ending.

One thing I meant to talk about but didn't remember until I got into bed was that I've been taking a quick shower when I get home from work. I like feeling clean and the act of showering seems to reset my brain. 

So yes, showers are great and probably magical. This is a better ending. 

More anniversaries

 My calendar reminds me that it's the anniversary of the death of my little brother, Luis. That takes the wind out of my sails a bit. There were lots of things that happened today, lots of good things. I can't recall them at this precise moment, but the moments linger. 

It's been a long time. February 24, 2009. 

Bedtime now, I think. 

Last night, I woke up at 3 AM, feeling refreshed and ready to start my day. Clearly, I was going mad, because that is not normal. I lay awake for a while, trying not to stress about falling back asleep before I had to get up for work. Because that's a trap. Creates anxiety, then it's impossible to sleep. The key is to not think at all, or at least as little as possible. I like to pretend that I'm supposed to be getting up, but I've decided to remain in my cozy bed. 

It works pretty well.

I felt pretty good most of the day, despite my night of truncated sleep. 

Must be all that kombucha I've been drinking.

Wendy brewed up some kombucha, and I stole some and now I have a couple of gallon jugs full of the stuff. I drink until they get about halfway, then I brew up some sweet tea and fill them back up. It recently occurred to me that I had been doing this for a while...and I don't know how long it's safe to keep the stuff. I may be slowly poisoning myself. I think this batch has been going since... August of last year? 

A quick internet search assures me that the living symbiotic culture of bacteria and yeast (that floating blob that converts the sweet black tea into whatever the hell kombucha is) shouldn't become sentient for at least another six months.

We've got time!

Cooking

 Let me preface this by saying that I know it's a bad idea to cook while naked, and that I'm not stupid enough to ever do that.

I was not cooking; I was only moving the freshly-cooked Spanish rice from the pan to a storage container. And I was wearing a towel.

I don't have to justify myself. (I will, but I don't have to.) I'm still unraveling the art of making Spanish rice and while I am certainly improving, I cannot yet say that I'm an expert. Probably because I look up the recipe and then think "oh yeah this isn't so hard" and then don't look at it again. 

Life is just more exciting this way. 

But now I have pretty dang good rice for tomorrow, and probably another scar. It's no big deal. I've got so many scars, and they all tell a story. Usually that story is "I was hungry and didn't wait for it to cool down."

I didn't say they were good stories.

What day is it today...Monday! That's it. I have a tiny goal of sitting down for a few minutes in the evening, after I've taken my nightly shower, and writing down my thoughts. It's very easy to get stuck in the same patterns of thinking. One of the useful things about this blog is the ability to re-read it and realize I've been behaving like a jackass. Like how I'm so much less tolerant of any amount of discomfort. I blame the medication. That's the thing about being depressed; I was half-miserable all the time so I would do a lot more stuff, because what's a little more suffering?

Oh, it's cold outside? That's fine; the icy grip of sadness is already clutching at my throat; I doubt I'll even notice it.

Hey what the hell...I appear to have downloaded something called MuseHub. Was I drunk on the internet again? I vaguely remember thinking about making music. Also thinking that it's probably too late to get really good at learning to play an instrument, but not too late to use music software to make sad banjo songs.

Yeah, I must have. I also seem to have downloaded Audacity. Oh wait, I think that was because I wanted to record myself reading Moby Dick so when I die and if someone wants to hear my voice again, they'll have to sit through Moby Dick. 

It's very easy to get stuck in the same patterns of thinking.

Been very busy trying to create an ambient space for ideas to gestate. 

Okay, no I haven't. I've been looking up the difference between alpacas and llamas. I thought I would know instinctively, but I guess I don't know my even-toed ungulates as well as I thought. 

Size: Alpacas are small. Llamas are large. 

Face: Llamas got the long face. Lamentably long, is how I'll remember that. 

Hair: Alpacas have shaggy hair that is finer than llama hair, and makes really nice wool. So when in doubt, I'll make a sweater out of the hair and the nicer one is probably the alpaca. 

(Besides the alpaca and the llama, there are two other extant lamoids: the guanaco and the vicuña. I'm sleepy so I'm not going to try to think of mnemonic devices for telling them apart. I'll leave that problem for future, South American Guillermo to figure out.)

We're close enough to the train tracks that when it goes by, the mirrors in our house rattle against the walls. The train rarely runs at night, but when it does, at least it never blows its horn. I'll wake up sometimes, to silence, and wonder if it passed by and I was just now waking up.