Sunday, 17 February 2008

Asking for mercy

When I sit up and demand to know where he’s been, why he’s wearing a different shirt to the one he wore when I went to bed and really only five minutes have passed, I just fell asleep and it’s the same shirt.

When I keep going back to my childhood home and the living room fireplace with the blue husky dog living in the grate but I haven’t lived there for twenty-four years.

When I am working and I interrupt a meeting in my boss’ office, walk up to him, press his nose and say ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I thought you were a drinks dispenser’ but I haven’t worked there for seven years.

When I sat up and said ‘There are three things you have to know before you can sit before the tree’ out loud but never explained what they were.

When my arms are outside the covers or I’m lying on my back and there are ghosts and monsters flying at me.

When I’m on a beach and there’s a huge wave coming and I’m trying to scramble to a crumbling wooden cafe which is going to be engulfed by the surge anyway. Again and again.

When I discover a room in the house that wasn’t there before and it has a bathroom too and I want to sell it but we haven’t lived there for five years.

When I’m put on the stage and the audience is there waiting for me to begin but I haven’t had time to learn the words except when it was Oliver and I knew those because I did it at school.

And this morning I woke up to hear a crocodile in the tree outside. Thank goodness it was outside.

When will the madness ever stop? Have mercy someone, please.

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