Before this internet drama, we had been extremely preoccupied with thinking we would have to move, and were incredibly stressed by that for a variety of reasons, not least of which that I was given responsibilities to spirits who live here and close to here, and I wouldn’t have any control, particularly, over where we ended up living (when you’re disabled and poor, you basically go where there is an opening, when there is an opening). That may still happen.
That has been doing a rather good job of squeezing most of the joy out of my life, as has having worse symptoms than usual, and spending too much of my time watching the sand run through the hourglass, mazed with suffering.
It may be the illness, it may be the stress over housing insecurity (so soon after I thought I had secure housing), it may be being too ill to focus on anything I care about, but it is probably all of them that is causing me to be so depressed.
It is a warm summer night. During the summer, we typically cannot burn candles because the ceiling fan has to always be on, due to a general lack of air conditioning. I reached for Freyr, and reached for the bottle of mead, unable to find the glass I usually use, and toasted him with the bottle. I took three drinks of it, for love, honor, and devotion, and put the cork back in.
As I leaned back against the pillows set up for the sake of my shoulder, I felt him reach for me and gently pull me out of my body and home with him, where I hadn’t been in far too long.