All my sisters were there in my dream. We were organising the cleaning of a house together. My youngest sister was in charge (so perhaps we weren’t all there). I’d suggested something by way of a solution and she’d been impressed and I was pleased (something to do with her car and taking a taxi because she had to leave it, all very prosaic). We were opening out bin bags and I had a packet of love hearts in my hand. I remembered, in my dream, how I’d loved them as a child. (Anything with words it seems did it for me, as it still does, I wonder why?) We’d begun stripping the outer covering off the sweets revealing a grey plastic bag and my alarm went off.
Why is the National Library lit up in red?
The moon was shining directly on the ex-butcher’s house. It was stunning.
A new month. My drawing month. And I have no idea what I’m going to do.
I’m still a little out of sorts. I am fighting myself. Let it be, he says. I’m not sure if the month thing will work. I didn’t know what I was going to write last month but a story began to evolve and now it has taken over my head. Though I’ve a lot more to research before it can really take shape. What will come of March? I intend to just sit at my desk with my sketchbook and see what happens. I’m tempted to work in silence – with just the birds song outside for company. We’ll see.