I have been having the worst dreams. They are becoming alarming more wretched and graphic as the week progresses...
Last night it reached pique with a delightful (I lie) scenario. Me, trapped in a room, a large loud room where no one could hear me or get to me- I screamed so loudly that I somehow managed to puncture a large hole in my throat- I could feel it. It was bandaged up for me, after a girl I went to secondary school with helpfully described it as a vagina....
When I woke up I checked my throat- standing in front of my mirror, muttering to myself that I have lost it.
Thankfully my throat is where it should be.
Other dreams were more surreal, and not as troubling- in fact I shared them all over the world by text, to let people know I was alive and to show them that I'm still... mad.
A few suggestions filtered through- give up cheese, talk to someone, careful what you read before you fall asleep. But my favourite one, from a medical professional...
Can you be normal for like, two seconds? Thanks.
Thursday
Monday
The Sunday of Sundays.
I put off going out to get the paper for some time as it was raining and I dislike wearing socks, so inevitably my feet would get wet and angry at me- they are vocal beasts.
But sometimes you know you should do something so it will entertain you at a later date and I am glad I did- I learnt that Baz Luhrmann isn't gay, that New York is so exciting you can make a 32 page travel guide out of the writings of people showing off that their passport is current and that there is a man in Leitrim advertising for a wife- he wants her for one year, to live on Inishfree.
I do kinda wanna sorta need to email him to see if it is legit and to find out if he is a terribly romantic soul or if he just couldn't be bothered with putting some product in the hair and going on tinder- it's where all the kids are going nowadays darling. But at the end of the day- I admire his pluck, and the fact that he has no problem giving marriage a timeline.
It was a story in a magazine that also had a plucked, quaffed and spackled photo of Joan Collins and her adolescent boy toy of a husband as one of it's main features... so maybe I should wait and see what comes of the whole thing....
But sometimes you know you should do something so it will entertain you at a later date and I am glad I did- I learnt that Baz Luhrmann isn't gay, that New York is so exciting you can make a 32 page travel guide out of the writings of people showing off that their passport is current and that there is a man in Leitrim advertising for a wife- he wants her for one year, to live on Inishfree.
I do kinda wanna sorta need to email him to see if it is legit and to find out if he is a terribly romantic soul or if he just couldn't be bothered with putting some product in the hair and going on tinder- it's where all the kids are going nowadays darling. But at the end of the day- I admire his pluck, and the fact that he has no problem giving marriage a timeline.
It was a story in a magazine that also had a plucked, quaffed and spackled photo of Joan Collins and her adolescent boy toy of a husband as one of it's main features... so maybe I should wait and see what comes of the whole thing....
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