Feeling better.

.
.
Some of it is purely psychological.  Having done a bit of work, and a few of the special projects, even if some of that was a failure in it's purest form (no problem with that, sometimes it IS going to fail).  While one thing didn't work, I rebounded immediately with a secondary possible solution, did that, and it worked.  That is how it should be.  Most of the laundry is done.  Most of the dishes are done.  Sweeping is, pretty much, done.  And my game console and bluray are back in action.  Not bad for, pretty much, a single day.

Today?  Waking first.  A glass of kefir, then coffee.  A bit of gaming.  Then on to the kitchen and bathroom.  When those are done to the level I can, a shower.  Maybe a soak bath today, though, instead?  Yeah.  I really need to hit my feet.  Soak and pumice stone, oil and massage a bit.  A small breakfast in there too.  Hmm... grapefruit and a few eggs?  Who knows.  Fresh fruit on hand really helps when everything else seems too much.  Even as hard as an apple can be, split and seeded it still goes down well. 

I am down to four 14 mg patches in my first box of two boxes.  I have been, quite by accident (mostly) stretching the patches out.  I am quite sure I wear them well beyond their use, and sometimes I even take them off while cleaning myself and forget, for a day or two, to put another on.  Still, I will use these last four.  If I knew someone who could use the other box I would send them along.  At $40 a box, or so, I hate to waste.  I just don't like to start when I have to worry about a resupply mid-quit.  And... better to toss a couple of twentyspots than to continue with tobacco.  I don't believe in the health issues, mostly.  I just don't want the commercial attachments.  People are more addicted to easy foods, sugars, and junk food, and to greater detriment, than all tobacco user addictions and problems combined.  Just saying.  I am, actually, severing both of those ties.
--------
Yes, a dream.

I was in some faux 'Old West' themed resort town.  Perhaps like parts of Colorado Springs, or Moab.  Buildings with wooden plank, seeming, outer dressings.  I had met a woman and we had fallen in together.  Women, for the most part, aren't romantic.  Not in their own lives.  Until that is all they are, but that is only when they lose control... and I wouldn't call it a well developed romanticism.  When they go there, it's pretty juvenile and basely sexual.  Which... is, I think, why they avoid going there.  And they are quite vulnerable when they are there.  This one, while not in that baser sense of sexualized imagery, was a more ideologically romantic type.  She believed in the higher forms of romantics, she simply couldn't go there.  A fan, you might say, of the better sort of the stuff.

We were there, together, for about a week.  Just living, and love, talking, and exploring the town.  She knew it well.  We were ghosts, by the way.  Yes, some ghosts, at least in dreams, are more than just memories lived, or relived.  She knew the place well.  She had been here for a very long time.  I was... unusual, as is often the case.  Somehow, even as a ghost, I traveled.  So I knew nothing of this place.  She eventually took me to her favorite tavern.  Many stories ghosts can tell.  Sometimes they learn from when they were alive, sometimes from after, but sometimes they can learn of events before through other ghosts. 

In this case, the tavern owner had a lover.  But something mysterious happened five years previous.  His lover died.  How she died... something was very strange about it all.  My woman believed it to be a tragic accident.  She believed the owner was in a state of grief, denial, and loss.  She pined for the lost love and the ideas and notions which swirled around the story.  A romantic, but not so much for her own part.

The date of the mishap was soon arriving.  My woman had figured out a way to step into the past and visit the time, if only as observers.  She had learned this several years before, but had been too afraid to attempt it... alone.  Yes, women sometimes have ulterior motives.  That wasn't all of it, though I suspect it was an added incentive for her to be with me.  When the time came, we did what was needed and... nothing.  Even ghosts, it seems, have their own silly stories passed on as truths.  And yet, she really wanted to know.

We ended up following the manager from the club, in the later evening, as he went to his office across the street.  Perhaps he was going to do a little ritual.  She suggested he always did this on the anniversary.  She had never followed.  As with the false ritual to go back, or peak back, in time, she had been afraid... alone.  So, we followed him.  Through the front part and back to his office proper.  Being ghosts we could go through the walls, doors, windows.  When he got to his room, he sat behind his desk, opened one of the cabinet "drawers", withdrawing a finer scotch or whiskey and a thick glass tumbler sort of glass.  Enough to hold half a beer I suppose.  He did a three finger pour, then put one of his boots up and out and onto the desk, leaned back, and began to do minor gulps.

After a bit he looked over at us.  I turned to see what he was really looking at on the wall.  "You!"  I turned back to look at him.  People talk to themselves often, trust ghosts.  Still, it can be a bit of a start if it doesn't seem likely, or is animated, as this was.  Again, "You"!  He had both of our attention.  And he didn't seem to be looking at the wall.  But he couldn't possibly see us.  He described us!  The she asked him a question, but he didn't seem to be able to hear.  He went on, in what seemed a half-crazed sadness, or something. 

I did murder her, you know.  She looked at me, and suggested the man was simply delusional, or had some false sense of guilt.  She knew the two loved each other, and just wouldn't believe that he would have murdered her.  The man spoke more.  Ah, but I did murder her.  And the reason?  Was she cheating?  Was she going to leave?  Was she bad?  No.  I just killed her.  I don't need a reason, he said.

Now we knew.  But as little as I shared her type of romanticism... preferring real and living and acting in my own life or not at all... and having enjoyed her pleasure in the tragic seeming love, even I wished we had never learned the truth.  She was so taken back about it.  I was quite worried for her.  As it turns out, she probably had more difficulty dealing with a skinned knee then this.  For as seemingly motivated as she was, or seemed to be, after the shock wore off, she merely said "Oh well".
--------
Don't ask me.  It's a dream.  What about dreams don't you, or do you(?), undersand?  From my perspective, I thought it was interesting.  And, in ways, perhaps plausible.  It was entertaining to ponder as I went through it.  What do you want?  You do realize dreams are created and acted out in about the amount of time lightning strikes, right?  It's not every woman who is like that, but it's not even a tiny subsection... just some reasonable number, at least from what I have seen.  Though, to me, it was an interesting exploration of one sort of the feminine mind and heart.  And my own senses regarding women.

Anyway... on to a cup of coffee, a bit of gaming, and then the first part of my day.  I will definitely need a nap later, perhaps around noon.  Later.