A tramp
Woke up this morning dreaming about my friend Tim, who died of AIDS in 1994. I was half-aware in the dream that he was dead, and I was joking with him that he should look a lot worse. He told me I look like a tramp, and I woke up feeling vaguely insulted. What did the dream Tim mean by it? I kept asking myself in an Agent Cooperish way.
Amazing stored detail, and I was able to clearly see his face all day as if I'd seen him only yesterday. I am sure this was triggered by looking at my old MS the story of which had featured him.
Worked more on the new Pollard & Kenny project. Then felt rather paralysed by gloom for I ache, and my stomach is uncomfortable. I hate March almost as much as I hate January and I want to be curled up in a nest of leaves somewhere. But Spring usually seems me return to form. A long chat with Mum helped greatly however, and after this I had a productive and enjoyable afternoon.
Lorraine much improved today, and took herself back to work. In a revolutionary act, turned the TV off again and Lorraine talked instead as I pottered about and cleaned Betty's fish tank. We did watch Chelsea on TV winning a football game at last. Lorraine and I discussing the plight of Fernando Torres, the fabulously talented Spanish centreforward, bought by Chelsea for £50 million pounds, who has managed not to score at all for last 22 games. Chelsea persistently play him, and each game you get to see a young man who has lost all confidence labour fruitlessly. Despite this, the Chelsea fans were baying encouragement at him. It is painfully compelling.
Woke up this morning dreaming about my friend Tim, who died of AIDS in 1994. I was half-aware in the dream that he was dead, and I was joking with him that he should look a lot worse. He told me I look like a tramp, and I woke up feeling vaguely insulted. What did the dream Tim mean by it? I kept asking myself in an Agent Cooperish way.
Amazing stored detail, and I was able to clearly see his face all day as if I'd seen him only yesterday. I am sure this was triggered by looking at my old MS the story of which had featured him.
Worked more on the new Pollard & Kenny project. Then felt rather paralysed by gloom for I ache, and my stomach is uncomfortable. I hate March almost as much as I hate January and I want to be curled up in a nest of leaves somewhere. But Spring usually seems me return to form. A long chat with Mum helped greatly however, and after this I had a productive and enjoyable afternoon.
Lorraine much improved today, and took herself back to work. In a revolutionary act, turned the TV off again and Lorraine talked instead as I pottered about and cleaned Betty's fish tank. We did watch Chelsea on TV winning a football game at last. Lorraine and I discussing the plight of Fernando Torres, the fabulously talented Spanish centreforward, bought by Chelsea for £50 million pounds, who has managed not to score at all for last 22 games. Chelsea persistently play him, and each game you get to see a young man who has lost all confidence labour fruitlessly. Despite this, the Chelsea fans were baying encouragement at him. It is painfully compelling.
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