what I imagine when I’m trying to sleep

Hello, reader.  How are you?  I want to tell you what I imagine when I’m trying to sleep.

I have insomnia sometimes.  Ok–a lot!  Both my parents had it; I’m trying to accept this problem might be with me for a while.  Insomnia is part of life for many people.

There’s adversity, and what we do with adversity.  I’d like to make lemonade, but that’s a fuckton of lemonade.

what I imagine when I’m trying to sleep

Last night there was a new thing, which is why I thought to write about what I imagine when I’m trying to sleep.  The word pachyderm comes to mind.

I was lying on my tummy, pretending I was strapped to a huge animal–a mammoth or an elephant.  The bed was the animal I was riding on, as it slowly moved through a jungle world.  Yes, I was a sleepy elf or kid or small adult, riding on this huge walking animal that would go slow and keep me safe.  I was safe to doze.

It actually reminds me of something I embroidered last year–an elf lying asleep on a purple goat.  The elf was me.

other things

I like to imagine walking through a forest.  Just a slow walk–seeing trees, moss, a path, twigs, berry bushes, maybe a skink or snake or scampering mammal cutie.

Lichen might grow on bark, or a strand of usnea.  Nettle might look cute at the edge of the path.  Poison oak might gleam red as the world considers fall.

Yes, my birthday is coming.  Here we go, doing September as well as we can.  Then onto October, and the veil will grow thin.

rainbow goddess

I’ve talked before about Rainbow Goddess who I used to visit when I needed to sleep.  She was wonderful to me, so particular in her mountain place that she never came down from, without language.  I could visit her whenever I wanted.  She would never visit me.  I liked how that was defined.

Then also there’s another goddess who I wrote a poem about called God Is Safe.  That’s the first poem in my new poetry zine hat genius 27.

I used old art mostly for hat genius 27 that I found in a sketchbook from 2014, when Ming and I were living together in Sacramento.  There’s an old drawing of Ming from that time, and drawings of chaos piles from when we were moving.  So neat how drawings from nine years ago are still pertinent, or newly pertinent.

moving

Moving is a huge upheaval.  I’m glad to go through everything I own, every so often.  I’ve admired traveling friends who get the amount of stuff they own very low–two backpacks.

I’ve learned so much from living in community with 11 other people since November.  But I sleep much better and my anxiety is lower, just me and Ming, on this lovely housesitting trip at the coast.  We’re thinking about options if we might like to try something different soon.