I went on a long walk in feels-like-16° weather. Slipped on ice a number of times. I was way too underdressed so my whole body was numb and I felt great. It wasn’t until I was defrosting in the heatered house that I could tell I’d been injured. Come nighttime Pigeon was panicked, her breathing fast and troubled. I sang her to sleep. I was surprised she fell asleep so quickly. My back hurt so bad it was hard to turn in bed. It was a good day.

At night and from a distance in a snowy parking lot Rae turned her shoulder to face me and said nothing and somehow this struck me intuitively as evidence of God. In the deep night I felt horribly overwhelmed and scared. “It's been a hard few days.”

I dreamed of St. George cookies stored on a high shelf in a wooden temple. On waking I was disappointed to find that, unlike St. Michel cookies, they have no tangible existence. I dreamed things were normal again. I don't feel like myself. It's hard. Sang Pigeon to sleep, "Safe & Sound."

A good morning. Up, down, and up again. At night in the woods I felt self-disgust so intense it gave me overwhelming nausea, and I laid down in the dirt beneath a tree by a snowy field and cried and waited. I calmed down. I felt better. "I like being your little bear. It means a lot to me. . ."

Consciencegnawing, nausea, cookiebutterlatte ( caffeine makes things worse — next time get decaf ). Sought advice and an OCD therapist. Relief. Peace came at night over ramuné and angel hair. The ramuné caused my upset stomach to disappear. I felt like I'd discovered fire. A good night. Everything was easier.

An episode of grief during which I seriously considered attending a Support Group. Later I felt good in a specific way : sometimes I feel so good it diminishes my capacity for sadness, and other times so sad being happy feels wrong, but today I felt balanced and multifaceted.

Accidentally stepped on a little ceramic shard in the kitchen and bled a bit. I had to pull it out like a splinter. I was periodically, illogically afraid I had contracted tetanus. My breathing was troubled, my shoulderblade sore, I felt like throwing up. I calmed down before bed. Thirty minutes after Vashti fell asleep she woke up and asked if I was awake. I was and she told me her bad dreams and I comforted her and she said she was glad I was awake. I felt deeply happy.

Vashti dreamt of a painting of a goat in a museum, which is odd because recently I dreamt she called me "kid" affectionately — which I understood instantly in the dream was a term for a baby goat, though my waking self did not know this definition. Myself, I dreamt a snowy owl was staring at me moon-eyed and upclose and I was impressed, though not fearless. An answer to my snowöwl prayer on the 3rd ? The dream made quite an impression on me. Super happy. Je t’aime mon nounours.

Love. Read you to sleep. Then listened to you breathing while I reread a favorite book of mine from ten years ago. This morning you dreamt you were standing over me. I was drawing a dragon on a worksheet, seated in a schooldesk. At the same time, I dreamt of a church with a large room devoted to George, full of art depicting him : in this great space only me, and two young children with their two young mothers. A reverend showed me a seat at a table with crayons and coloring sheets. After enough sleepovers, these matching dreams no longer surprise me. Actually, they make some kind of sense. The same kind of sense as when we both wake up at the same time in the middle of the night, the Kitchen night, night after night.