Part of it was the cleansing I was begging for.
A couple of grammes of fungus with that telltale blue sheen and suddenly my bed, by candlelight, music raging and the phone clasped firmly to my ear, was the most comfortable and magical place in the universe.
When the phone hit it's cradle, I didn't want to let go.
I lay back into the softest pillow in the universe, and all of a sudden the only thing I wanted to do was sit up.
Then it hit.
The racing thoughts at the apex of a trip, where if I try to hold on to one nameless catastrophe looms so I let go and everything I've worried about since November flashes past me in the thirsty gulps of a dog on a hot day with a sudden access to water.
A million things I wanted to write down, to say, to resolve, to tell you, but it would be like trying to plant a tree in a flowerpot, unwieldy and unfair since all I had clasped in my hands were peach-seeds, filled with phosphorous and unrecognizable as the soft fruit they would soon be.
But I have the start of my orchard and hours later, with the sky lightening to grey with the promise of an eventual conclusion, I had my tear - both the scything of the fabric of my cloying realities, and the salty rivulet that I had been longing to feel roll down my face.
I don't remember the actual moment of dropping off into sleep, I just remember making endless promises to myself, wanting to follow up on them immediately, then approaching the overflowing point and promising myself again that I would keep them as a part of me for later.
I remember a few, but can't bring myself to put them into words.
I remember being asked about my insecurities earlier in the evening and knowing that I'm more afraid of having insecurities than I am of naming them, then I remember the epiphany of naming them, wanting to write them down for you, but they were gone again in another promise to myself...
Which I intend to keep, as soon as I build the strength for them.
Or not the strength, but the Patented and carefully Planned Obstacle Course where I will furiously defy myself (as opposed to death) and move past them.
I can already see the pilons stacked up by the side of the road, and I can feel the earth's rumble as it moves.
Sometimes fungus is a colourful game to play with friends, to relax into a colourful universe, and sometimes, like drink - it is an alone thing, an adventure where reality shifts and there are roads I can travel in the swiftly falling dusk and hope to remember the padding of my footsteps as I return to the point of juxtaposition where my earthly roads begin again.