I wake fretting sometimes. Last night a dream set me off course. I shouldn’t allow it to be so. Their only dreams, he says. Yes, but their disorientations shadow my day. There was an old man, a mix of people I know, who had dementia and the whole house (where I also lived) had to be turned upside down and consequently where I was sleeping was unfamiliar to me (as were the things inside it) and the walls had holes in them.
I copied yesterday afternoon, though unsuccessfully and it brought me down. Can I really do this? I will try again today. Keep going. Just keep going. The click will come.
A little blue car stopped at the corner of Llanbadarn Road to let me pass. We did that kind of dance – do I wait, will you go, no you go. I was touched by their politeness and solicitude. It felt nice. The town was alive with noise. I could hear boys’ voices from the shoreline. Come on, let’s go, was one of their cries. And then the sound of splashing. Lights were on, squares of yellow against the black night. A girl with a ponytail got out of a car and rushed across the street. The car lights stayed on. An alarm was sounding in a block of flats. It makes one edgy all this wakefulness.
