Our body-clocks are shot. We stay up late, the TV mesmerizing us, the sofa forming hollows where we sit. Each grey day, it has crept a little later, until today, we wake at twelve. Dream-lagged, I mourn the morning lost, but still I shun routine or rule.
Tag Archives | oversleep
I sleep until after 11am. My dreams are confused, as if memories had been thrown into a tombola, mixed and drawn with no prizes. Ex-lovers, family members, old homes, tumble like an over-dramatised soap opera. I wake and draw the curtains to the dullest day. Every detail is flattened and matte. It’s difficult to see beauty anywhere, but above the rooftops opposite is the fan-shaped top of a tree, its small branches seem neatly trimmed like a crest against the grey, and in them sit five jackdaws, waiting.