A Woman Waiting
Portrait of a stranger at the urgent care.
(Digital)
Today I got up, did some work, and then decided to mow the lawn, despite the fact that I’m still sick after more than a week. I did it, though. I mowed that lawn. And promptly decided that I had to go to urgent care because holy God, my lungs were on fire.
Turns out it’s not actually normal to be this sick (with a temp at around 100, which I did not clock because my thermometer is faulty) for 10 days, even if I am capable of mowing the lawn. So now I’m taking antibiotics, I've taken the next couple days off work, and I have a movie list all prepared.
Ugh.
Like I said: when I get sick, I get sick.
Horrors Abound
I can always tell I'm well and truly fucking sick when I can lounge through a solid 7 hours of movies.
(Digital)
My theory about why I get SO sick whenever I get sick is that my relentless brain exhausts my entire system until the physical mechanism encounters a bug, calls a time out, and short circuits the whole operation. Brain goes mostly offline, body does its best to recover with some relative peace, and the amalgamation I call “I” gets to watch shitty entertainment without the need to fidget or putter.
The Unruly Basement
From a dream.
(Digital)
This imagery immediately made me think of the story of Jung telling Freud his dream about the house and the metaphor for the collective unconscious: a basement with dirt floors and two skeletons. And how Freud made it all about him (and by “all about him” I mean he claimed Jung planned to fucking murder him), had a breakdown in the theater, and Jung had to comfort him and carry him out.
This particular basement was cluttered with dusty memory, difficult to access, and possibly impossible to escape once entered. But aside from all that, it was fairly cozy and not particularly menacing. The couch looked especially squashy.