I feel like Dr Who. Lost in time and space. The only one left.
Me and Mr Sir D, despite his consummate spider throwing skills, have parted ways. I'm in a kind of painful confused limbo.
When my alarm went off yesterday, I dozed, and each time I opened my eyes I expected to be in a different bed- My old room from childhood- Greenford-Stratford-Manchester- when I opened my eyes each time I didn't know what to look for. I was, in fact, in Stratford, under double size duvet and cow print fleece in my single bed single room- my matchbox refuge from a world so hard to understand that only the alarm and the job keeps me going, repeating things, routine, get up, work, drink, bed. Repeat. Add friends and therapy and dancing and tiring late nights and long concerned telephone calls and there you have it. Life, the Universe and Everything.
If only I never had to actually come out from under the duvet than surely all my problems would go away? Can one be paid to sleep all day?
