I woke up this morning feeling like an elephant was sitting on my chest.
In my dream my mom was cleaning my room. I walked into the bedroom and caught her spraying pesticide between the sheets. "I was just trying to keep the bugs down," she said.
"That's toxic, you can't do that," I said. "Your room is a disaster," she said. She picked a pile of clothes off the bed and set it on a dresser. "Stop." She picked a gum wrapper from the floor and tsk'd. I chased her from the room, but she kept coming back.
Finally, "Get out," I said. "Get out now, I mean it."
And she left.
When I wake, as if in concert with the flat light outside my window, I can feel myself slipping into a grey emotion, sliding down some glacier graphline with a y axis of receding happiness. I put out a mental ice-axe, lean into it hard, and stop halfway down the icy incline to look around.
The clouds are not depressing, they are soft and romantic. I am not lonely, I am socially unfettered. It's Friday, and my first stop before work will be the gym. If I can't live in a sunny place I can stoke my metabolism until something starts shining from the inside.
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