Delayed poo, again.

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.