Set my alarm for 9am, but just couldn’t get up, dozed until 10.15. Nice. Maybe, I think I'm Packer, or Rockerfeller. I sleep differently when I don’t smoke, lighter, more broken, but somehow more relaxed. I float under my doona, rather than pass out. I like it.
I've got to get up earlier, though, go for a run, or a bike ride, do some writing. Get organised. It's March for fucks sake!
Gotta go to mums.
David says I get crazy eyes when I see one of the last of the fruit flies flying around the kitchen. He says one minute I'll be talking to him and the next my attention will have drifted, over his shoulder, over his head and my eyes go crazy as I reach for a tea towel and leap to swat the bug. But, I've nearly got them all. There are just a few left.
I dreamt last night that my companies CEO gave me all of her professional and personal papers to sort out. There was something about her mother coming to visit and I had to get it done before she arrived. (Christina's mother is dead in real life) There were company structures and pumpkin scone recipes all mixed together. There was an old photocopier on which I had to do all the sorting.
2 comments:
I get crazy eyes when I'm walking across an intersection and cars turn in front of me, cutting me off even though I have the right of way. I get crazy and often bang on windows or fenders, and whoever I'm walking with at the time usually gives me a look of reproach.
I love the term "fenders" it's so other worldly.
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