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Eighteen days of antibiotics have really done a number on my digestive system. I seriously cannot stop shitting and have severe stomach cramps beforehand. I think I may have lost some weight, although I make it a point not to keep track of that type of thing these days. But if I had to guess, I bet that I’m under 120, probably around 118. It feels great to think of my intestines as getting everything out. It’s old, and I want it out. It stinks. I don’t want that kind of stink in me. In the bathroom just a minute ago, I was imagining that I died and they cut me open and were saying how remarkably clean I was on the inside.

Lately I’ve been having the most detailed, beautiful dreams. Monday night I had a flying dream, which I haven’t had in a long time. It was a part of a whole plot featuring themes and characters from the TV show Heroes. Some asked me, “Can people really fly?” And I said yes and to show them, willfully levitated into the sky. In another part of the dream Silar was trying to take Peter Petrelli's powers and was unable to (the triumph of good over evil). Silar became a somewhat neutral character, no longer interested in killing but moreso an observer in the unfolding events of which I was a part. I also had a dream that night of being in this hotel that had portals into evil worlds. There was a strong wind blowing between two pillars and particles in the wind. I think my mom got sucked in. I was trying to destroy the pillars with fire. In the last dream I remember, a co-worker left a half a bag of coke for me on my desk underneath the paperwork. I dried to snort it but didn’t make lines or use a straw and it got all over the desk and my clothes. I knew I was wasting it. Then I went upstairs and it was a party and I was in line for the bathroom – at the end a total stranger was finishing the bag and I knew Mishy would be mad that I didn’t save it for her. (For the record I have only done coke a handful of times and not in over a year. But I often have dreams of using drugs like this and even of doing drugs I’ve never tried).

I’ve pretty much decided not to go on any medication for depression or anxiety. Since my health improved, the anxiety has abated and feels manageable. I don’t want to dull my spiritual senses. I know that I’m kind of crazy, that it’s crazy to cry all the time, stalk around with silent rage, obsess about God and death, become frantic and grandiose and feel I have a great destiny… but I also trust myself and am functioning just fine. I don’t judge Mishy for taking Zoloft. In fact I support her choice 100% because the level of intensity and stress she feels is crippling for her. I think it's biochemical but that also she will get stronger in time and learn better coping skills, although clearly, “You’ve (already) come a long way, baby,” as Virginia Slims says.

Last night I dreamed we were together at a sort of Tibetan temple – except it wasn’t Tibet, it was another Asian country or place, and it was also on the lower east side. It was in a building, and we had to get to the top room. To get to the top, you had to climb or rise up this flat, vertical wall. There were no stairs. Mishy was up there and she tried to pull me up but we couldn’t, so the Asian lady appeared up there and pulled me up. Then Mishy and I were alone in the room, and we touched the holy black stone on the ceiling and prayed without words. Then she took one of two holy amulets and gave it to me to wear as a necklace. Then we were outside the building and on Houston St. and we tried to make a bed outside the building with a mattress and blankets. We were sleepy. We had bags and luggage as if we had been travelling. Then they told us we couldn’t rest there. Then I noticed two scary things. One was a large daddy longlegs that was aggressively hopping toward Mishy and it jumped on her hand. Then the scarier thing – first I noticed its black, shiny, wormy leg. It was on the blankets. It had perhaps come back with us from Asia, or Tibet. It was like a spider, with a large “body” or head, whatever the center part is, and like a daddy longlegs but the legs were all shiny, black worms. I was too scared and grossed out to kill it, and it went under the bed. Mishy didn’t see it, but I tried to show her. (This part of the dream may be related to the fact that she killed a large cockroach, with Raid, in the apt. last night and I disposed of its body.)

In the next dream, we were in our apt. and we went into the backyard, as if for the first time. Instead of a dirty courtyard, there were woods and a lake. The trees were brilliant – red, orange, gold, as if it was autumn. The lake was shallow and small, surrounded by the trees. We waded into it, and it was clean and warm. The sky was black with lines of gold where the sun was coming through, and it became lighter as the evening progressed, almost like the progress of an eclipse. I kept saying, “This isn’t the Gowanus!” Then it became a party. All these ladies, friends, and even some guys were there and were swimming and milling around happily. I felt very happy. I had a camera and was walking around and filming the guests. I had also made a short, dark video earlier of a conversation between Mishy and myself, which I don’t remember, but she was quoting someone, listing these drugs or terms, and we thought it was funny. At the party, there was some tension between us; we were separate. At some point I was smoking weed and another point eating candy with Mishy. I can’t remember much more than that, but the sky, the lake, and the trees were my strongest impressions.