Today I don’t have much to say. Syrupy tiredness sloshes stickily behind my eyeballs and my head hurts. I had good news earlier which sped me up, looking at publishing some academic work, but now I’m back to tuckered out. It’s been an afternoon/evening in bed, resisting the siren song of central heating (I’m a hypomanitee on a budget) and wheezing around the start of a cold. I’m still on my descent, I have to point it out otherwise I feel a fraud for not being quite mad enough, and my thoughts are becoming ever more disorganised. It’s not all doom and gloom though: I’ve spent my night with some heroes: Ian Dury, Michel Roux Jr and, of course, my mother. Alas, they were only on the telly and Ma on the phone otherwise it would have been one hell of a dinner party.
Make Love and Wake Up with Me
I want a cuddle and some sex
No S&M, no SFX
Then sleep just for an hour or four
And then wake up and have some more