Helicopter

I heard it several times overheard, flying over our roof. They must be looking for someone, he said, his head bent over the newspaper. It was early, before 6 am. It’s a sinister sound. I don’t know why. Insistent, like an insect buzzing, chasing, haranguing.

I dreamt I was trying to make a dress and the pattern I was working from was a lot more complicated than I’d bargained for. (How like life. And indeed this sampler I’m working on for one of the poppets. Ugh, I keep mis-counting, and I want to throw a tantrum at my incompetence.) I kept looking back at the picture on the pattern. It looked like a wedding dress but the loose folds at the front of the bodice didn’t appeal to me. Did I really want to make this dress? I kept asking myself. Then I saw other images of women in it, though the dress had changed. Then I saw bits of women’s torsos – naked, like a painting. Then I was due to start teaching again, or was I just applying? It was at a post-ed college – and someone was telling me about all the meetings I’d have to attend. Some are at midnight, the person was saying. My heart sank. Do I really want all that back? Then my colleague at work was on the phone, could I do the booking for midnight? Why can’t you do it? I wanted to ask. I’d do it, he said, but I have to drive all the next day. Alright, I said, I’ll do it. Then I woke, a little before my alarm.

A cloudy day. Writing done and sent. One more to do. Sewing today and my fingers are already sweaty with the tension of doing it wrong. Will she notice? It’s a bit like one of the Spot the Difference puzzles my niece and nephew love to do. Who can spot that the giraffes are not exactly the same size?