Heavy eyes

[smokingboot]

Strange dreams about my writing turning up in all sorts of random places, including blank notebooks on sale in stationary shops. Some letters of mine were on display in front of strangers and people I barely know; an enemy and his spouse were two such viewers. I bought one strange stationary set or diary that seemed blank on the outside and then was full of my writing on the innermost pages, but when I realised this stuff was everywhere, I gave up and left the world to it, comforted by the fact that whatever was seen, no-one knew who I was.

I read that back and it makes no sense at all but it's the best I can do.

And in the Mum situation, I know what to do. I go. If she doesn't want to see me on Xmas day, I'll find some other way to spend the time. Don't know whether to write and tell her, she'll probably have hysterics if I don't and will doubtless fret herself into oblivion if I do.

Party tonight, but I am knackered, sleeplessness a real issue.

Comments

[smokingboot]

I like to think so, though at the time it was perturbing...like wandering around a city where you've graffiti'd all the walls, despite not being able to recall any of it.