The other night, maybe the last night I got more than three or four hours of sleep, whenever that was, I had a vivid dream of riding on top of a train. I was sitting crosslegged and someone else, though I don’t know who because I never turned around to see their face, was crouched behind me. We were having a conversation about something and riding along. In the sky I saw two massive flaming red meteorites shoot through the sky, one after the other, and slam into a forest a few miles away. In my dream I knew it was the end of the world but I didn’t feel sad about it. The stranger behind me asked me what I would have wanted before the end, which was imminent, and I said, “One good final breakfast,” and then the dream ended and I woke up covered in sweat.

I have been waking up covered in sweat the whole last week. And although I’m sweaty I’m also freezing under my blankets. I reckon it’s because I’ve only been having stress dreams. I dreamed about being at funeral, and sometimes I dream about this girl I miss . . .

I’ll tell you what: I sure could go for any good news at all. What’s going on? I don’t want much of anything. I’m not greedy or selfish. I guess I just wish I’d stop getting steamrolled every day. I don’t think that is asking so much. I cannot keep living as vessel for misery is all. It is the opposite of what I want for myself and I just can’t get out from under it. I try to put good things out there but often it feels like chucking it into a black hole. Is this an ancestral curse or something? Maybe I’m just unlucky in that way.

I promise not to be a drag and keep making updates about my despair, but just for posterity: I’m in big trouble because I’ve lost six pounds in 48 hours

just when you think the world’s a joke, the joke’s on you

i told judy that the flashing neon-lit santa monica ferris wheel makes you feel weird because though the ferris wheel is moving and the lights are flashing, neither can feel time

she left this note in my door a few days before i left for berlin and said she was sad that i was leaving and that she cared about me

my friend judy died yesterday. she sent me these texts in the middle of the night, but my responses went undelivered

we were going to meet up at eli’s when it reopened. i had mentioned that on the back of the card i sent her

well, this is a very bad feeling

rest in peace judy

I don’t know what’s going on with me . . . but for some reason between like six and ten pm I feel extremely sad, and then I bounce back again and feel all right. Though I’ll tell you what: those four hours are harrowing. I’m starting to wonder if The Stuff I Take To Endure Existence is waning, or else there is some dip in its effectiveness during that pocket of time. It could be also that this is a strange limbo between two points in my day: when I stop working and when I start working on my own stuff late at night. Because I only really ever get things done from eleven on. Too much time on my hands is dangerous. It really rattles me and makes me feel rotten as hell to let my mind sputter and backfire like that. I create a sort of figure eight in my mind, and I race through the same thoughts over and over again with no end in sight. I get real paranoid is what I’m saying, and wonder at things. Like the fella said: It’s enough to make a stranger stare.

We must also consider the fact that there is still a deadly pandemic raging outside, and probably half the people I know in the Bay have covid or are on the precipice of getting it because their roommate does. It has made me feel lonely that I can’t really see anyone. They even closed down Eli’s till February, so it’s not as if there is any place to go hang out outside anyway. It really is a deadly equation when you get down to it, and I have no doubt that the sadness of this time is at least partly responsible for burying me in the depths.

Well: Today I was looking at pictures from around this time of year, from three winters ago when we had the last normal winter, and I found these pictures of Jess and me in Chicago. Man! That was such a good trip. I wrote about it earlier on Instagram:

I think I’m the luckiest person I know when it comes to befriending Internet Strangers. I have found or have been found by all these really good people who have been unconditionally generous and hospitable even though I was just some guy from the internet. Everyone is always so nice to me. The kind of affection I have gotten from my friends reminds me of this little passage from NO LONGER HUMAN:

. . . natural friendliness which never became oppressive. Friendliness with no ulterior motive, friendliness stripped of high-pressure salesmanship, for someone who might never come again.

Though yeah . . . I got really really lucky with Jess. She’s one of the best people I’ve ever met. Here are some pictures from that trip:

It took me out of this hell to think about that trip. I remembered when things were fun. Alas!! I wonder if that is now an extinct thing for all of us. Well, it was fun while it lasted. . . .