Smokingboot

May 21st:

Walking down a side path towards a house. There are many dead songbirds, thrushes, blackbirds, starlings on the sides of the path. Walking into the house, it's empty apart from some strange cats. Their eyes are small, they have faint stripes and there is a weakness to them.

There is a photo of a chubby blonde woman, with a face that's pretty but not pleasant. Something deeply unattractive about her. I get the impression there is something wrong, unable to harm but still wrong.

'Are you a ghost?' I ask the photograph. The face in the photo narrows its eyes at me.

Last night

Someone moving past the bed fast, I think they have my handbag, I get up to go after them in the dark. larians asks me what I am doing, I explain. 'No baby,'he says, 'There's no-one there.' I can't see the person but I am convinced they have gone downstairs. He tells me to look at the doorstop (we wedge the bedroom door slightly open for feline convenience) 'It's still there. It hasn't been touched,' he says.

I come back to bed and listen to foxes screaming the night away.

The italics depict the part that happened in reality. I do not recall when the dream faded into my standing there having a real conversation with my very patient beau.

Bloody hell. Talk about weary.