august Sunday the twenty third

therapies are strange when they work, when they cure. That sudden absence of the problem making the continued application of the cure appear unnecessary, as if it never had been necessary. Those terrifying dreams of asphyxiation, of powerlessness, are gone. The couch mares are gone to be replaced by other dreams dealing with daily things, with sensual things other than just paralysis, terror and awakening.

Gone.
Falling asleep is not much easier, and a wide awake day without its downs is not here either. The breathing mask is not a panalgetic, but remember, those specific dreams that were only entertainment for others have left the premises.


It is a cool sunday, distant bells tinkle, nearby ones pound out there brazen sounds.
There is not a sound from the street, cars are mostly all distant, far away. A single one stops in the street, the engine is turned off, and footsteps recede into the distance. A pigeon coos, and there is the distant sound of an ambulance, or a fire brigade
Then there is complete peace again.
Even the cat has retired, it´s frenetic search for food satisfied by a small heap presented on a plate.
The coffee is made too, weaker today, not as intolerably overstrong as it is sometimes, by chance and carelessness

And now the cat is at the window