Last night, I slept only intermittently. During those brief periods when I slept, I was semi-conscious; my so-called sleep was a troubled amalgamation of wishes and fears and reactions to imprecise concerns going back to my childhood—a nasty brew that attempted to drown me in memories that might not even have been my own. I think I’ll sleep far better when I return from my doctor’s appointment this morning. Speaking of which, I should leave here around 9 for that visit.


Powerful storms swept through the area yesterday afternoon, evening, and night. The most severe seem to have been north of the Village, where either powerful straight-line winds or a tornado tore into the Jessieville schools, leaving significant damage to buildings and sports fields. The extent of the damage has yet to be reported in full, thanks in part to the fact that our local newspaper is not a full-on news source (it is more of an ad-rag with extremely limited capabilities to pursue and report news). Time will tell just how extensive or limited yesterday’s storms were.


I remain far, far from capable of writing the way I normally write. My cold/flu/affliction is on its way out, but it continues to inhabit me, causing all manner of discomfort or displeasure. I loathe this feeling of ill health and unease. I thought I was over it yesterday morning, but it seemed to have returned with a vengeance later in the day. Enough of this. I will set my alarm in a moment, to alert me when it’s time to leave. In the interim, I will attempt to drift into sleep for just a while.


About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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