I have THE COLD. I have mucus rivers and imploding skull and a singsong mind with ties to nothing, nothing at all. The sun blares in on me and the glare makes me wince but I won’t get up to close the curtains because I need the light. I think of it reacting with the green juice I drank this morning, a soupy sunshine collision that will sprout a garden in my guts and fill me with renewal. Later I’ll add some beetroot juice to the mix. It promises to turn my pee pink. Like an 80s revival for the bladder.
Craig has gone out to take the wrong bus. He is doing the thing I always tell myself I’m going to do, which is buy a day bus ticket and see where it takes me. Wrong bus adventures. On your left you will see one of the many housing estates featured in Ian Rankin novels. A little further down on your right you will see a chapel dedicated to a pious Greek beauty who tore out her own eyes with a thorn. Our final stop features a mountainous climb and an all-you-can-eat roast beef carvery. Welcome to Edinburgh.
Last night we watched The Fourth Kind and now I am afraid of aliens that can suck me through the ceiling and make me believe and not believe at the same time. I’m afraid it’s not an owl.
I have lost count of how many tissues I have used. I like this show called Dexter. I am convinced that these two people are speaking to each other in code:
Through The Trees
1 hour ago