the way we fade on waking

I woke up way too early this morning from a dream where my childhood cat was still alive and trying to tell me something. But in the dream I knew he was dead and I was wondering how he got back here, got back to life. I’ve had this dream a lot, each one different then the other. One I had where there was like fifty of him, wandering around, demanding I follow the herd of ghost cats.

So yes. At 5 in the am that happens and I wander my house after I wake up, sleepy still and my ms making me feel like someone hooked a battery to my tongue. I try to sleep after that, stomach aches, no fun. The sun comes up and the odd thing is I think I should just read. Fuck trying to go back to sleep. So I finish Murakami’s latest. I have my spotify playlist going to have some music, and Father Death Blues plays, and then, oddly enough, some Louis Armstrong. And I feel like I’m in the ending to an old movie. Something smells like candlewax, which reminds me of my childhood and going into Catholic churches and I think the air smells like the saints of my younger years.  I’m not Catholic anymore (not anything anymore), but the smell still does that to me.


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