Monday 22 October 2018

Moon and tide

I dreamt my right forearm had a plague, some infected growth of scabs and boils, and a gelatinous parasite inside was coherent, moving up and down the arm if I tried to contain it. I began to realize that this coagulated chunk of black blood was all my depression, grief, paranoia, sadness, despair and defeat all formed into one large parasitic ailment and could be extracted. I instructed doctors to numb my arm and tie it really tight in three parts to limit the defensive growth, then to cut and try to get it out. But once they tried to pull it, it spread thin rots and sprayed all it could with poppy-seed-sized larvae to infest the wound and my blood, so, predicting this, I told the surgeons to just remove the lot, the arm, and quickly. I think my brain assumes my uterus is the source of all my negative behavior and emotion and we'll all be better off when the lot is simply amputated. Problem is, for all the screaming and crying on the bad days, my sex life is insane on the good days and without the constant injection of rampant hormones into my blood, there would be no libido, no constant climbing onto my lover. Now that he's on sick leave, we go crazy every day. We've already broken the washing machine and the edge of the kitchen counter. All that would be removed along. Without the super-charged hormones that make me insane, I'd be normal. By comparison, normal would mean dead.


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