It’s spring now, at least according to the calendar. I’ve spent a lot of time indoors, between the biting cold and the rain and sleet, just sitting and reading, surrounded by stacks of books. I read until my eyes ache, drinking wine, sometimes listening to music. The books and music are practically random, not tied to any specific topic or genre any longer – I just pick something up and start reading it; it could be a Harry Dresden book, or a book on birdwatching, or some ancient tome written in Latin or Lemurian – it doesn’t matter any more, I just need something to keep my mind engaged, keep me focused so my thoughts do not wander. When thoughts wander there have been… negative consequences.
I still need to sleep, however, and when I sleep, I still dream. I have my evening rituals, my sigils and spells and candles to protect me from the black wings and the madness and the pipers. I can still have ‘normal’ dreams though – the things in my subconscious can still spill out before my eyes as I drift to sleep, and my own thoughts and twisted memories can still torment me and drive me mad as I embrace that cursed slumber.