some days I feel as if I'm sitting in sand. the universe is sand. it seeps through my fingers. the mental health worker came today, to see one of our incarcerated and disturbed individuals, and he and I talked about suicide. he's against it. he's a mental health worker. I suppose he has to be. I didn't tell him that there are days I understand. the universe is sand. everyone who ever lived before a hundred or so years ago is dead now. I put purge dates on files that someone will throw away after I'm dead. it's funny, this year the neverending darkness didn't get to me, but I'm having trouble dealing with the eternal light. at 2am you could still read a book outside, if you so desired.

the other night I had a dream that I was trying to escort a polar bear through town, and stop it from eating people. my friend Patti says that means I feel responsible for everyone in town. what a scary thought.

anyway. please know that I often get like this. and it passes. just, I don't always feel like talking...

On Saturday night we went to a hypnotist show. It was for the spring festival going on in town this week, and included dinner and a comedian. The comedian was a bit bemused by the whole "ohmygod it never gets dark" experience, and the fact that people were coming up to him at the airport and saying to him, "You must be the comedian," and not because they recognized him, but because they didn't. It's a small town.

Anyway, the hypnotist show. He asked for volunteers, and I stood up. Twenty of us went up and filled the chairs on the stage, and he said that he would be sending some of us back to the audience. After a few minutes of listening to his spiel, I still felt totally normal and I figured, ok, maybe I'm not suggestible enough and he'll send me back in a minute or two. Then he stepped it up, started asking us to stare at a spot on the ceiling, and then we had to close our eyes and then. After that my memory gets a bit spotty. At one point I guess he was going through the volunteers to see who was relaxed, and picking up people's hands and dropping them. I didn't realize he'd picked up my hand until I felt it hit my knee when it fell, so I can only imagine that he picked up my arm and it felt like overcooked spaghetti.

My friends said that I still seemed like myself. I have a memory, like you would have from a dream, of dancing with one of the town councillors. But apparently I was more reserved than some of the younger women.

I expected something more dramatic. I expected to not feel like myself, I think. But it was interesting, because it was as if there was a tiny bit of consciousness that was still me, and it was watching with interest. As if, I knew what I was doing but it didn't really matter. I was surprised afterwards to hear that all the people around me were asked to go back to their seats, I wasn't aware of that at all. Interesting, all in all.