Back to reality

The problem with escewing reality is that invariably reality comes back to bite you in the ass. The result of which is that the meltdown I’ve been long foretelling has come to pass. So I’ve gone on retreat to Lindisfarne and I’m writing this on my phone so appologies for any spelling mistakes since my phone hasn’t got a spell checker and I rely on said function completely to mitigate my dyslexia.

So I was woken this morning by the deafening silence, usually I reside in a town center near a decaf tea factory that emits a constant hum, here there is no sound at all bar a very light wind. Its more than a tad different.

I’ve also slept the night on a memory foam mattress, which in my personal experience always leads to bizarre dreams. I drempt my Dad was building a shed out of a written off Volvo estate, then he went to a pub and bought some knee high winter boots that played Good King Wensislas, when they were laced up and unlaced. Just goes to show there is rarely any meaning to my dreams…

So anyway, we’ll see how long I last marooned on this strange Island. But its probably better than the nut house. Already waking before eight AM is very much unlike me.

 

 

 

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