So far, no projectiles are flying yet, and he hasn't brandished any knives or guns. He's miserable. I'm miserable. It's great at our house.
I think I might be depressed. I'm struggling with getting out of bed, ever. It's been accumulating for a while, and I think it's getting worse. I don't want to sleep, especially, I just don't want to face the world. The world is a mean motherfucker, and I'm tired of it.
I had a dream a few nights ago. I was on an elevator, and it was packed. I started humming to myself, and then I started saying "Om." I kept saying it, over and over again, and then the other people on the elevator were saying it, too. We were smiling and creating this beautiful, vibrating space, resonating inside and out and between all of us. They were strangers, but I knew them perfectly, and they knew me. They were glad I'd started it. It was weird.
It reminded me of my new toy, the Junky's Wives Club. We're starting a step study over there. I'm excited. I wish that club was a place. I'd get out of bed to go there.