Last night I had dinner with some friends and managed to drink just the perfect amount of wine and a delicious cup of coffee. The conversation was excellent. And I could tell the story of my ceiling as a story and not as the traumatic thing that happened to me that I want to throw up over. And that was really, really nice.
The tire turned out to be a minor thing, a $20 fix. There was a little piece of metal in it which they found and removed and fixed. I was so relieved I almost started crying.
I would like to get back to writing. I don’t know what, but I had just been so nicely in the groove of it and I’d like to get back to it.
I had a dream, like a meaningful dream, that I was on a sled with Hel, who was, as you’d expect, half soft, beautiful woman and half skeleton and we were going down the hill–this huge hill–into town and in the dream, right when we’re about to curve to make the final descent into town, she says something like “That’s where you go, but if you didn’t?” and she flung me over the side of a cliff and I fell and fell and fell until I was in the underworld where I found a black pearl and put it in my pocket.
And I think the meaning is straightforward–things are going to be okay. But even if they weren’t, there would be value in the experience.
And I think that’s true. I may be too hung up on luck.
Though, I must say that I love the idea of life being a sled-ride with Hel. Creepy, but it feels right.