Am I the only one who's got a broken circadian rhythm?
It's that internal clock that tells you when you're supposed to be awake or asleep. Being indoors this long has thrown off all forms of normalcy, including when or how we dream. I'm sure for some, it's also a question of what we dream about. And dreams are the topic of the hour: the ones we are still holding onto and the few that need to be heartbreakingly let go of because of the cement blocks that can't ignore our new gravity. 

I keep hearing "we haven't hit bottom yet" and that constant anticipation for the real descent is leaving me in prolonged weightlessness, like when a rollercoaster goes over the hump. The differences being that you didn't choose this ride and you're screaming internally.

A sunrise. Soft towels. A clip of an old film from the 50s. Cat purrs. The slow billowing smoke of a put-out match. Once again, we are reduced to grasping for the little joys that can keep you trudging through the mud.