Winter Solstice

[smokingboot]

Wishing you well on the shortest day, the longest night. May you have magic, warmth when you need it, cold when you want it XX

Here is a poem. It turned up early this morning so I just dashed it down, probably needs editing but I don't think I will with this one. It's a love song.

https://substack.com/inbox/post/182221101?r=1r9jj7&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true&triedRedirect=true

There's an earlier one that belongs before the solstice. This is for you when you are tired and cold.

https://substack.com/home/post/p-181889167


So far, winter's solstice gift to me has been a most peculiar occurrence.

Yesterday I went into the garage to switch the outdoor Christmas lights on. We have a double garage, with a wall down the middle and a door between the two parts. I went into the garage and to my astonishment, saw what seemed like a huge whiteboard, blocking all the space. I wondered if R had dragged a mattress in here somehow but why would he do that? It took a moment's recalibration to realise that I was looking at the wall. I was easily two feet closer to it than I realised.

I hadn't recognised it.

I move in and out of dream states a lot, but not like this. If I am awake, I know what I am seeing, and don't mistake one well known everyday object for another. Shaken, and suddenly dizzy and nauseous, I got out of the garage and back into the house. Everything was all right apart from the onset of dizziness and nausea. I have had disassociative fugues in my time, and they are dramatic, but these number something like 7 in my whole life, they began after the attack - so only since 2010 - and only occur in situations of extreme stress. The triggers are known, unusual and avoidable. This was nothing like. This was not recognising a wall, seeing it as a large white flat mass and wondering what the hell it was and what it was doing in my garage.

I had a very mild headache at the crown of my head. The dizziness and nausea stayed for about 20 minutes/half an hour. Then it all faded and I was OK, if puzzled. Dr Internet talked to me about AIWS, Alice In Wonderland Syndrome. This tickled me. I had an old friend, long gone, who used to call me Alice after the heroine of Lewis Carroll's books. But the experience didn't tickle me at all.

Just a glitch I guess.