I appear to have run out of it. I lie in bed when the alarm goes off and I am yawning, I drive to work and I am yawning. Most of the time I am too busy at work to do anything but work, but when I stop for lunch or a cuppa, I yawn. At home, I am yawning. You get the picture.
I am struggling with sleeping, it is taking me longer and longer to get off in the evenings, a sure sign I am frazzled. I also have this lovely little patch of eczema on my face, I don’t know why it won’t clear, but that is also a sign life ain’t as grand as it could be. I know that when you take things away, (removal of Voldemort for example) life gets so much better. I keep my fingers crossed that when we move away from The Witches of Eastwick, we sleep easier.
So I lie in bed and listen to The Cat Who, or read a bit of Mapp & Lucia (Lucia and Pepino are about to cut a swathe through the society of London living at his late Aunt’s house in Brompton Square; leaving the residents if Riseholme to speak with Abfou through an Ouija board and start up a museum) with the hope that by immersing myself in an imaginary world for a little bit before I nod off, it will stop my mind wandering, waking me up at random o’clock. Sometimes it works, but not always.
I don’t have much else to rabbit on about to you today, except it is really windy here. The roof above me is creaking and groaning, it sounds like it is going to peel off a la Dorothy in Kansas, but at least the cockatoos are quiet. They have disappeared today; battened down the hatches somewhere, they aren’t in the tree that I can see over the road, they would have to be held on with string, glue or staples it is moving so much. The street sounds eerily quiet without them, despite the traffic rumbling past the window.