Nightmares and cold hands

Margie knitted that beautiful “infinity” scarf for me last winter, and today she presented me with a matching hat she’s been working on all summer, so I wanted to do a portrait of the two of us in a reflective window. Despite our hats and wraps, we were freezing. Today it was only 46F/8C during our coffee hour, and by the time we’d been sitting outside for an hour, our hands were numb. We’re going to have to re-think our Covid Coffee dates as winter comes on.

We had a great time nonetheless. This week our subject was nightmares because we’re both having troubling ones. Margie’s theory is that it’s the subconscious mind, trying to resolve old conflicts. She can’t remember hers, but she wakes from them feeling disturbed and restless, vaguely fearful, unsure what to be afraid of. Unfortunately I do remember mine. I killed my mother and baked her dismembered body parts in a number of pies, and (on a different night) had a passionate love relationship with Queen Elizabeth, who was in her mid-fifties and looked more like Olivia Colman than herself. Apparently my subconscious fails to realize that my conscious mind is anti-monarchist, but I was, in my defense as it were, attempting to persuade her to provide for houseless people in her Will. The Duke, who was still very much alive, was not amused.

The world was no nearer being put to rights when we parted than when we began, but we were laughing. This afternoon I’ll be hanging out with Aimee, so it’s a very social kind of day for me, though another migraine is thundering in my rafters. 

Update: had to cancel my time with Aimee and go to bed with some tylenol (which is much less fun than the dream of going to bed with QE2/Olivia Colman), but this migraine is not as severe as the others have been, so I maintain I'm getting better.