I have a cold, a sore neck, blocked sinuses, cold feet, can only find one sock. I know if I imagine that my feet are actually sweatingly hot this may confuse them and make them actually hot.

I watched a documentary interview with a cannibal today, his head the shape of an alien and he said he felt like an alien, catapulted from another planet. In the middle of it one of my colleagues came over with potplants for us to mind. he had been sick, feverish, said he thought this would be good for poetry. he introduced the potplants by name. I said I hadn't achieved that level of intimacy with my own plants and he said yes, but you and N have each other, I only have the plants.

then I went back to bed, the sky was a very milky blue, at some point N came and closed my computer for me and eased off the air conditioning just as I was falling asleep.

I have not been meditating much the last week and I find I am not remembering my dreams in the same way. I want to start again, but maybe just sticking to 10 minutes for a while instead of 20, while I am sick. I feel like too much crying and fighting made me sick. This is BD's theory,  that when one cries or shouts one irritates the mucous membranes and germs get in. I think it is right.

Well, I was doing so well before that. And then hormones and stress came and smashed me up, I dropped all my routines and went crazy and now can't remember where I was. Threw my glasses, broke them, had to get them repaired.

But I had seen it coming and went to see G on Wednesday to try to forestall it. Nearly did, but didn't. It was nice to see G. And I did meditate that night, and went to the cafe to write on Thursday and Friday mornings, just couldn't hold things together over the weekend. Tidal rage.

Began something interesting on soft shroud at the cafe. a frame around it. Back to the cafe tomorrow morning, if I feel well.

G said something so - he said 'I want to tell them to have faith, to keep going, nothing will end, don't sell your girls to sex traffickers, no one will die -'

I stared at him and said 'but people do die'.

He said 'yeah, I know - or, I don't know, I just don't know enough about those communities.'

'People die, kids without medicine...' and then we talked about micro-loans, strategic initiatives, like I was teaching him.

My feet are warm now - it worked, I tricked them. A miracle of faith. Does G get this attitude from church? How come he can be so dense, a child? Like a little kid excited about going to Sunday school and learning stories and praying to Jesus. Last time I saw him I said - 'I don't like happy, comfortable endings or messages in my poems, because it's like - like say as a therapist you were just trying to fix all the problems in people's lives so they could be happy. It's not going to work. So you have to find a way to help people be alive and just... (I couldn't find a word) LIVE and be engaged with what is there and not wait for anything.'

He said, 'Oh! I do? Really? I haven't got there yet, I am still trying to fix everybody's problems so they can be happy...'.

He said this with no apparent guile but I still can't tell if it was therapy when he said it or stupidity.