To be eaten by some fishes who were eaten by some fishes and swallowed by a whale

I am spending far too much of my time in the free-fall cycle of pain and sleeplessness and not doing most of what I want with my days. After I finally passed out in the mid-morning, I had a sequence of odd, slightly broken and slightly recurred dreams of criss-crossing some nonexistent and familiar campus for a program of short queer films which had naturally not had the decency to materialize in my waking reality by the time I surfaced back into it. Discovering the death of David Ehrenstein did not make me feel better. Just about none of the news makes me feel better, how the hell should it, but I would appreciate my physical embodiment not capping further my ability to deal with it. I have watched hardly any movies this month. I am going to make a bagel.