Third day in a row of waking up from a nightmare.
In this one, I had gone to my apartment to lock myself inside, only to find that my door frame was missing and so there was no way to do so. This, after I had ridden a bike around the Quarter seeing buskers on every corner and in every alley, all with cases full of money; in spots where I had previously never thought of playing, myself.
I was trying to ride by my spot in the dream but kept getting trapped in places like coming to an alley with a staircase at the end of it, in the direction I needed to go, then carrying my bike up the stairs to find that there was a bar or pub at the upper level that was only accessible by the same staircase I had just scaled. Then, turning around to go back down, I encountered a group of people coming up the stairs and had to try to squeeze by them, holding a bike...
Just about every detail of the dream, I could trace back to prior experiences, a lot of which I had dwelt upon (been tormented by the recollection of) the past few days...
Going off the sardine diet, as I had done the week that I had been broke, coincided with the nightmares and the waking up heavily depressed each morning, but for only a few minutes; as if toxins in my bloodstream had been mobilized, maybe earmarked for elimination through my organs, but hitting my brain along the route.
I'm suspecting that honey, or at least the brand that I have now, could be a neurotoxin to me.
I woke up, initially, after maybe 5 hours of sleep and had the notion of trying to stay up, being only 'half' tired. I made a cup of coffee with some butter and enough honey to sweeten it and drank it while listening to the thunder of Tropical Storm Arthur outside my window, but soon tired enough, despite the java, to lay back down and have the most recent nightmare over the course of about 3 more hours..
Now, I'm waiting for myself to become hungry again after finishing off the sourdough bread, which had seemed to contribute to brain fog, to the point where I would be looking around the place for where I'd put my coffee cup down, maybe to watch the lightning flashes out the window.
I'd bought the bread during a drinking binge fueled trip to the store, congratulating myself after which for not having bought a box of Zebra Cakes, and rationalizing that bread, butter and honey had been a more sensible choice.
The alcohol consumption is, I'm pretty convinced by now, the master controller over my decisions turning out to be good or bad. If I had no ambitions beyond being a useless drunk, then this wouldn't be so much of an issue.
I made a deal with Nichole, my 'caseworker' (who embodies the 'support' in the Permanent Supportive Housing that I'd been offered by virtue of being a homeless veteran) that, if I fell off the wagon again, I would let her put me in an outpatient rehab program, covered by Medicaide..
That has woken up in me a resolve to help myself, as I have done in the past, that had been faltering recently, particularly the times after my monthly 'retirement' funds have arrived.
And, come to think of it; the nightmare of being pursued, then finding that the door frame was missing is relatable to that. Perhaps the sentiment that I can't lock myself inside and hide from the world with drugs and alcohol, but now, as per my agreement with Nichole, 'they' can barge in and take me away in a van for a couple weeks, if I do so. Although the hiding from the world aspect is debatable, as I am still able to roam the world, like an inebriated fool, on social media and even here, from the confines of my permanent house..
In probably about 3 or 4 hours, I'm going to feel hungry, and will respond by drinking water, until the hunger subsides, signaling that I'm burning up the glucose from my liver (or the glycogen, I'm not sure; I'm not Doctor Sten Ekberg...).
Given the mood swings I'm having on this Tropical Storm Arthur Day, June, 18th, 2026; I'm sure I will change my mind about drinking alcohol along the walk to the store; but there is an equally good chance I'll change it back to not drinking before I get to their door.
I wish I could take a big enough dose of LSD so that it would alter my brain chemistry and literally burn away my perception of "who I am," leaving just my higher self in its place. A self to whom it would never even occur to smoke off a vape or drink. Do I do those things? I don't think I do... I might then think.
Tinnitus Too?
The recent issues with my laptop and hotspot (routed through a 'government' phone) and bluetooth connection to my stereo speakers cutting out randomly, along with a tinnitus that will start in one of my ears as if a switch had just been toggled, and then do things like jump to the other ear just as abruptly, before maybe going away for weeks at a time, combined with the fact that one of the wifi signals that pops up at the top of the list (being the strongest signal) of available signals after I turn on wifi is named "NSA," and began to appear a short time after I posted "I think 'delta variant' is just code for 'injured by the vaccine'" on Facebook, back in 2021; which also concurred with the readership of this blog going from 400 or so daily, to 12 to 16; has got me wondering about the 'free' government phone -shout out to Ed Snowden; and one of my biggest regrets is having drank away what I could have used on a new phone using a different carrier.
Meta AI told me: "12 to 16 readers is good for a journal blog!"
Yeah, but what happened to all the people who used to randomly land on it, by typing away like a million monkeys and searching for the exact phrase I entitled a blog post? I once made a post that almost 5,000 eyeballs landed on. But, I suppose 'they' fixed that little glitch, haha.
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