Uncurling from the cocoon of necessary sleep, I awoke to realise that once again I have had to sleep 90 degrees from the night before, having to rearrange the bed to accommodate for the constant shifting state of my bedroom. In the grey light of morning, I noticed that the mess of my belongings at which I was staring hopelessly last night have sorted themselves out into a kind of order: this goes there, this goes there, this in this box, that in that bag. Now I just need to find time to put things where they belong. Before Saturday.
"Be happy," he said, but happiness is not a light one flicks on like a switch. Happiness is the slow burning of a candle, or thousands of candles. For now, I am sponged out, flooded out and tired, and my wicks are too wet to burn. After a little time, a little sunshine, they will again come alight.
Posted by sniffles at August 09, 2002 08:51 AM