This could be insane, but I go to my āhappy placeā which is a 1900s-era walkup in a high-density residential area of a city I know and love best, where septuagenarian Gloria Swanson is fostering my first Burmese cat. Her parlour smells of old books, the upholstery is velvet, and we sit by large, tall windows so the sun rays filter in and illuminate the dust.
Gloria is always serene and ātogetherā. I never see her leave her tall-backed velvet chair, but she must on the times she buzzes me in.
Once in a while her husband William Dufty, author of Sugar Blues, dutifully buzzes me in and makes tea for the both of us. Last year Yorkās University Challenge captain made some appearances but left after the Brexit vote; this morning inbetween some āsleep sprintsā Mary Pickford appeared as someone who lost the last of her family, a younger sister, when she was close to the age I was when my younger brother left the planet (two years ago today). Mary, Gloria and I held hands and chanted some self-love and self-approval affirmations inbetween counting down from 100 to 0.
This āwise women spirit guides communeā worked better at getting me to sleep than did the combination of 20 grams of melatonin, binaural beats, Vitamin B12, and Liquid Calm magnesium drink. I will try exercise and an online āritual bathā recipe with household ingredients for another psychic cleansing remedy.
