LIMBECK

I’ve been sleeping a bit better, perhaps because I am taking a half-dose of medication to help with that. I still wake up reasonably often, but usually in the near-get-up hours. Listening to audiobooks or podcasts helps to keep the dementors from any demonstrations of power. I have to be careful that the listening material is not too interesting or that keeps me awake, too.

I have dreams that are quite vivid and peopled with folks with whom I have lost contact. Last night featured my old blue 1966 VW, aka The Ship of Fools. I had a turtle that I lost and had to try to save which ended up in me nearly drowning in a big pond of mud. I think I left the turtle there. From there I retreated to B1’s apartment crying and filthy and ready to take a shower. No idea how all of those things go together.

Later that same day.

A person might wonder just how many tears can be shed and how much grief is involved in mourning a wasted life, particularly when it is your own and there is still some to get through. Or not. Just having one of those awful days, rejected again by a few gigs that would have turned around things for me. Trying to not stay here in the sadness, nor venture any further into darkness. But I am crying, crying hard.

And I am so sorry to have been such a great disappointment. I did not mean to be so stupid … this reminds me of a line of Shakespeare I think of often, although it is meant to relate to straying from a true love … I have likely quoted this before as it has been a touchstone sonnet for many years. (#119)

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears,

Distilled from limbecks foul as hell within,

Applying fears to hopes, and hopes to fears,

Still losing when I saw myself to win!