How many times have I contemplated the difference between my life now and whatever wayward track I thought I was on. Some incomplete course wracked with inner-malady and conflict.
I’ve been avoiding The Fourth Step. It’s a self-imposed impasse, like most things I create for myself. Meanwhile, I’ve started seeing my therapist again and going to groups. Just procrastinating like hell on Step Four.
I’m making fajitas tonight and it’s supposed to rain today. We’re right in the eye of hurricane season. Thank God I bought Duma Key by Stephen King to read, just as soon as I finish devouring The Vampire Lestat by Anne Rice.
I miss S terribly, but I fear I have no way of reaching out to her. I had to abandon everything and leave due to the malice back home, the heat of a city gone too hot on my trail. I figured it was inevitable, whenever I like a place too much or get too comfortable in anything, I naturally expect the other shoe to drop.
I suppose that’s why I nurse my subtle resentments down here, it makes me immune to the disorder of things I expect to inevitably inflict themselves upon me.
I had another dream of saving my mother last night. We were in a recently renovated place, but the foundation of the upper story of the place was built on a tilt. The bathroom was nice, but the gravity was all off. I kept sliding down to the sink, as if in a world imagined by M.C. Escher and Charlie Kaufman. The wood paneling was nice and all varnished and there were sage curtains made of fine linen and spun mulberry silk, with a brass finish on the plumbing, but every time I went into the little bathroom, I slid into the base of the sink. I warned my mother not to go in, wary of her hip.
It wasn’t later until I remembered she had passed into another realm and my caregiving duties were no longer needed.
PTSD and Survivor’s Guilt? Residue of trauma?
I made a pop-tart for breakfast and had a cigarette. My roommate is going through her own labyrinthine journey, I think she’s due for her Saturn Return.
I can’t imagine what it must be like to go through your Saturn Return in Sober Living. The world seeming so alien and then the cosmos flinging some character-building in for fun.
She’s sleeping right now and it’s due to rain any minute.
Nightingale 
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