Getting There

Almost there. In a sense. Almost, almost there, would perhaps be better. Brain feels like it’s slowly drowning in some sort of thick, gloupy breakfast cereal substance. I don’t feel like I usually do on a Thursday night: shattered, shagged and fagged and fashed, but I do feel like I want to bring a pillow and a rug and go out onto the verandah with a book and just read and rock steadily and stare at people as they go past and nod off and let the cat sleep on my lap as the rain pitters and patters and futs and occasionally plops. After a good sleep tonight, of course. That’s my ambition, my dream which cannot be fulfilled – the sleep is probably the most unrealistic part.

It won’t rain much tomorrow, anyway. Silly idea.

Published in: on March 31, 2011 at 7:10 pm  Leave a Comment  

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