She sent her kids to the North Pole, honey

I have had nothing but nightmares for nights on end when sleeping, but last night I dreamed of researching the Franklin expedition in a library which was itself partly open to the sky and melting. I was brushing snow off a book of daguerreotypes. Its binding had cracked in the cold, fibers of ice like heartwood in the paper strings. The faces looked more like Brocken spectres than photography. I suspect it was nothing more than a late-breaking literalization of last week's article about HMS Erebus, but I suppose I could take it as an excuse to rewatch The Terror (2018). Otherwise I am feeling very tired and very blank and very pointless. I have another doctor's appointment tomorrow.