Quite possibly the most boring day ever. The most constructive thing I've done all day long is to pot up a begonia tuber.
It's just too dang hot to even consider doing anything outside although Mr. Moon, who is not quite human, chain-sawed and cut up that huge pecan branch that fell and hauled it to the burn pile in his truck. By the time he was finished with that and had fired up the the huge mound of downed branches, bamboo, and trimmings he was exhausted and had sweated completely through his clothes.
"Honey, you need to..." I said before he cut in.
"Don't even say it," he said.
"I was just going to say you need to cool off," I said meekly.
"Okay," he said. I mean, that was pretty obvious.
He took a shower and had some lunch and sat in his chair and didn't do a whole lot for the rest of the day THANK GOD!
Meanwhile, I've read a few articles in the New Yorker and taken a small nap.
I can't even remember being this useless but it's okay. It is, of course, the Sabbath. I have GOD's permission.
So. One of the things I liked best about not being on that anti-depressant was not having those cinematic dreams of interminable length. I hadn't had one of them in months. Then came the anxiety and then I got back on the pills, and hello dreams! Same themes. Huge house I need to clean or do something to. Running from bad people. Taking care of people. It's insane.
The other night I dreamed it was Christmas Eve and I was in a car with my stepfather/abuser and demanded to be let out which led to me having to walk home. For awhile I was wearing some golden high, high-heels which had semi-magical properties when it came to striding in them. I was forced to discard them though when the heels snapped off.
I had to walk through areas with criminals who tried to chase and attack me. I got away. Then there were lots and lots of homeless people and I felt terribly guilty. I never did make it home as far as I know. I may still be wandering around on an eternal journey for all I know.
On one level, these dreams are interesting and if I care to, I can easily find meaning in them arising from my life, my demons, my own journey. So, yeah. That's okay. But I wake up from them exhausted and they are so vivid and real that I carry the air and mood of them with me all day if not for days.
I find it so telling that these medications (this isn't the only anti-depressant I've had the dreams on) definitely affect my brain and how it functions. I suppose this should be a bit scary for me but for some reason, it's not. There are a hell of a lot of things that have and do affect how my brain functions, many of them which happened far before I was aware of even having a brain, before I could speak, and not under my control or with my permission. Some of these things have had positive effects on me but many have had devastating effects and if I can take a tablet that can slightly alter things in my cognition which make it possible for me to live with less fear, with less pain- I'll take it. They can literally mean the difference between having a fairly normal, albeit quirky life and having a life that I find almost impossible to function in.
But damn. Those dreams.
I guess I'll shrug off my complete sloth and go make some supper. Mangrove snapper tonight. A cauliflower gratin? Maybe. We shall see how it goes in the kitchen. I pulled the third to last leek in my garden and I'll be using that.
And by the way- my giant lady spider has disappeared but a smaller girl has taken her place. I am glad that I got to spend so much time watching that big golden orb weaver. She inspired me with her tenacity and industriousness. I am sure that I will feel the same way soon about the new one who already shows signs of being tidy and determined.
There is so much life around me if I just take the time to look.
I think the whole world is probably like that.