Changeable

I’m having one of those mornings.

I woke up too early on the edge of a bad dream. Like all bad dreams it is just a dream but, even when you’re forty-nine-plus-whatever, you have those first few minutes of the day re-playing it in your head. In this case it was reminding me of 2002/2003 and that’s never good.

Anyway, I decide to get up and get on with it only to find that the toast is the wrong colour and we have run out of OJ.

By this time I’m considering having the sort of shower where one spends ages under the running water with one’s head pressed against the wall. You know. It’s one of those Hollywood memes to signify that the hero/heroine regrets the recent unfortunate sex, or they’ve just found out that the money has been wired to the wrong drugs cartel.

Well, it’s been a bad week.

But it hasn’t really, and by the time I get outside I find (weather report) it’s a beautiful autumn morning, and I have some great music playing in my ears (Weather Report). And I try to recall that there is some really shitty stuff going on in the world and, actually, I just can’t be bothered filling in an expenses claim.

Perhaps I need a change. Which is kind of what the dream was about.

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