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Journal
Drones
A Samhain party and a trip to a medical centre
2026–11–09
Partner needed blood tests. We ended up going to a medical centre inside a mall. It was a strange place: a maze of long corridors, with textured white and blue walls, floors and ceilings, sheltered from the footfall of the shops and reeking of that familiar NHS disinfectant. This is what hospitals feel like in dreams, I thought. Like in a dream, I could imagine the whole place would collapse like paper if I only pushed hard enough against a wall.
I was rifling through my bag in the waiting room (really, a corridor). Ariel by Sylvia Plath was there. “Would you like me to read you a poem?” I asked my partner. “No,” they replied.
Later, we went to a postponed Samhain gathering. There was pizza, vimto and mini choc rolls. Good people too. A friend was back from delivering aid to Ukraine. They told us about the things they’d seen and heard: towns where statues are covered and few men walk the streets. Coffin-shaped drones on treads that rescue soldiers from battlefields. Russian drones that drop molten metal on people. Graveyards. She says she wants to go back and help more. I get it, but I am not so brave.
Someone suggested Tarot. The readings seemed to say: “your problems are your own mess. Stop getting in your own way and get cleaning” Everyone agreed the cards were snarky. I pulled the 9 of Wands, 9 of Swords, 8 of Pentacles and 3 of Cups. Make of that what you will.
On the drive home, we talked about how everyone we know is fighting their own battles. Every life, no matter how perfect it may seem, shows cracks under close scrutiny. But that’s okay. With other people beside you, it’s worthwhile.
