It was in my bed, just in the place where I sleep. And it was dead. Why had it gone in there? I’d clearly killed it when I lay down to read the afternoon before. Poor love. It was flattened. It made me feel a bit queasy. It’s too much of an intimate place to share with a spider, alive or dead. They are everywhere it seems. I am sorry for its demise. As I am for the snail I think I stepped on this morning in the dark.
I dreamt that I was moving myself around on a child’s scooter or trike or was it a skateboard. I was a little ashamed of it, its infantile qualities were plain to see but I didn’t discard it. I kept it with me, under my arm, my naivety made clear for all to see. Was it a symbol of how I feel I come across in my endeavours to understand and engage with philosophy?
