manifesting
The husband, very sick, taking a medication induced nap.
The youngest, asleep on the sofa after staying up all night with a friend.
The oldest, at work.
Myself, sitting in my recliner, reading. That I am sitting up at all is a marked improvement from earlier this week - I'm recovering from a flare that left me practically bed bound for several days.
But back to today - I'm awake until I'm not. My mid-day dreams always tend to be a bit sharper; slightly more narrative. Often strangely post-apocalyptic. I am weaving stories in my sleep, designed for my amusement alone, interspersed with dream logic and non-sequitors.
The faces that populate my dreams are so often the faces of people I knew when I was young. Today it was Katie, of the inside jokes, who is now some sort of life coach, living in Hill Country. And John, my first love, who is now in East Texas living precisely the sort of life he swore he wouldn’t.
Mercifully C, whom I’ve come to think of as The Mulberry Boy, has largely been absent from my dreams for the past several months.
After two weeks of feeling worse than usual, I’m claiming today as a good day, ignoring the niggling cough that’s snuck up over the course of the morning. By tomorrow I’ll likely be fully sick with whatever the husband has contracted, but today will be a good day.
1:28 p.m. - 2024-01-28