Sunday, February 9, 2020

Reading is My New Drug

Pariah, the wind, blew all day yesterday and she blew cool. But it was beautiful and sunny. At the dog park, it was wonderful to stand in the warm sunshine whist I threw the ball, totally enjoying Sheba’s new-found talent for bringing the ball back to me. Returning with the ball is something she’s always been disinclined to do.
Pariah left in the clear cold night, a night with moonlight so clean and pure that it made the torment in my head seem terribly unfair. 
Every night I attend a film festival that is wildly and erratically curated. My dreams overwhelm me. The transition, each morning, from my dream world to the real world can be tough. Lately I’ve been having a lot of dreams in which my mental health features prominently, but nothing of late has been as horrifying as my nightmare about Béla, my last dog before Sheba, the night after my trip to Nanaimo.
When I was smoking dope every night, I never remembered my dreams. Now I have several dreams each night that I can remember. 
So much for Justin Trudeau’s commitment to reconciliation! I guess what he meant was reconciliation only when it has no economic impact on voters. And as he fights to build the pipeline, prices for LNG plummet. I revel in his failures. I wish the Liberals had a true leader like his father was.
I finished Purity, my second Franzen novel and bought four more novels to read from Amazon. I still have one more Franzen book to go before I start on: The Light We Cannot See (Anthony Doerr), The Overstory (Richard Powers), A Gentleman in Moscow (Amor Towles) and The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho). It’s said that one replaces an addiction one gives up, with another. I’ve traded Marijuana for reading.

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