How the search terms “witches and marijuana” led someone to this blog yesterday: one of many online mysteries. Since I tend to follow up search terms when they intrigue, the main benefit of this one was learning that so-called witches used cannabis in the herbal remedies. Maybe a salve would work to ease arthritic pains? (I haven’t smoked the stuff in years – too harsh on the throat, plus I prefer modulating my moods with music, reading, writing, and so on.)
What with no outside obligations other than food shopping, the day ahead feels like a full-fledged holiday. There will be time to read slowly, to mull things over while doing laundry, dishes, sweeping. A movie at six. No one to accompany through bureaucratic mazes.
Singing yesterday morning. After a few months away from the group and the realization the winter has been tougher on me than I’d noticed on my own. No, not the voice; it still holds up well. Stamina? OK. Recuperation time is the issue. I’m most definitely the senior member in the crowd, and not about to become less so. Finding a ground-level living space: soon to be a priority.
A day off. Someone else taking responsibility for maze-wandering tomorrow. As with prison administrators, I wish all those involved in the bureaucracies of refugees and immigrants had a mandatory period in which they had personal experience of the maze they impose on others. No surprise: the interrogators were back in dream-time last night. Expecting detailed explanations on each and every one of the family members’ movements and thought processes. The main interrogator was a young man called The Mayor, so I suppose some of that dream material will find its way into story.