Asleep for nine, drifting for two, sitting on it for two. I woke up in a nightmare of 'he's gone off to choreography class in Covent Garden', which clearly makes no sense and I can only put down to the heat. Oh and me yelling that the bottom had fallen out of the future, despairingly, and then waking up and thinking, all you have to do is turn that can the other way up, and you have a gloriously free future vista. So why don't you do that?
It's hard when you want to do things and get on, but there is clearly some other niggly undercurrent running the show. I guess you just have to override this, as the conscious mind, and take the reins. If we all let out subconscious out in the waking hours, we'd be awful messes and wouldn't be hardly worth leaving bed. Stuff wouldn't happen, things would be disjointed, the momentum is lost.
I don't want to use his analogies to make sense of things, but that was always a good one. I don't want to lost my momentum with the work, but, as with everything, the bottom has fallen out. I need to tip everything the right way up, and contain what's clinging on, a bit of damage limitation. How I don't know.
I'm just reading Charlie Brooker, and deciding that he is good mostly becuase he is funny, has a wry humour and good language to spell it out. This can sometimes override all those conventions that you think you need. Then I read Tanya Gold, and decided if it's not right, you should abandon it. I couldn't even finish her piece, the context was cringy and not her, not even if you like not liking her.
Not written for ages, a week, stuff has happened but I've just not processed it into anything interesting to say. A lot of early nights, a lot of grizzly sleeps, napping in park deck chairs, double day showers, fridge fruit, getting back on the bike, research sparks, a new work place, past people meets, geeky film, impromptu dancing. A mix up, but nothing future-thinking for me. A LOT of dead references. Really missing that now. I don't want to sound desperate, but I don't want to be by myself. I'm not letting that feeling be desperate, it's human, as things don't work in a vacuum, and things work better if you have that person to talk to.
* as a postscript, my small hot water tea pot from last week is CRYING. You fill it and it leaks from the bottom silver gild lip, forces water out of its weak seal, and drips down. Only I could have a teapot that cries... *