Delayed poo, again.

Day 41: 3 clementines, bread with butter and strawberry jam; half a fennel, half avocado, sausage and cabbage stew; 3 arancini; prawn instant noodles; beers.

Again late, no poo in bag, again poo at work.

I overslept massively, moving from one absurd dream to another. A former colleague, my mother and some cats were the protagonists in a series of ultra-real oneiric episodes. To the point that when I was about to open my eyes I genuinely wasn’t sure I was on the boat. But I was. And was very late. I ate a pack of 40p instant noodles before going to sleep. Maybe it was that. Or maybe it was that I just needed sleep so bad after being deprived of it by Wind and Blue Tarpaulin Sheet playing silly games over the past three nights.¬†They may have had buckets of fun, but I really didn’t. I felt heavy and hopeless.

Not sleeping or sleeping badly creates monsters in your head. One privileged enough, as I am, to have enough sleep and good food on a very regular basis can only try to imagine what it means not to on an equally regular basis. What is it like to sleep on a street or under a bridge with no proper bed, in the cold, sleeping like shit, eating like shit? It struck me how quickly I was turning inwards, how quickly I wasn’t thinking straight just because I almost didn’t sleep for three days. How pathetic. I’m scared to even try imagining what living like that for months or years feels like. The damage it does.