After

My recovery is steady, though I don't expect to get back to "normal" for some time. I can describe the "atmosphere" of recovery as "blank." I'm fastidious about being clean and almost never go without a shower. I may have showered three times since getting back home on the 21st. I've sponge-bathed but didn't wash my hair, which devolved into an oily mess. I wanted to just curl up, unwashed, under blankets. Today I showered (and plan to every day from now on). One would think it would be refreshing (especially with peppermint shampoo). No--I feel the same, dirty or clean. No difference except I don't smell musty. Food has a curious, metallic overlay. Mr. Strega gets me brown rice with turkey gravy because I can taste the gravy and the salt. I ate half a turkey burrito today--again, the salt overrode the metallic flavor. I'm making a grilled cheese sandwich and steamed carrots for dinner, a kid's meal (the carrots are heart-healthy, the grilled cheese is not.) So it goes.

My dreams are strange: it's where I seem alive again. Last night I dreamed of a specific street in Santa Cruz, with an elementary school in the corner. The building is large, light gray; it used to be full of children. But the population of kids has diminished, and small, alternative schools house the building. 

In my dream, I am to cross the street, to get to the school. Massive vehicles roar around me: a giant red dump truck, a blockish school bus, like something made out of Lego. The traffic is terrifying, reminds me of Los Angeles: but somehow I get to my destination. That is another pale gray building, with columns and a tiled roof: it's supposed to be the Santa Cruz Main Library. The dream ends inside the library; I'm standing in front of open French doors, talking to a man I don't know.

Strange and very much off my center: so unexpected