2004-02-25 - 2:25 a.m.

Well if it's good enough for the Pixies...

I've been meaning to add an entry for ages, but like Mr Deltoid says - No time! No time! It's winter and I've been enjoying it too much to come on here and remind myself what a dick I am. Oh, I do like a blood freezing chill outside. Only a few hours of day light to scuttle about in, long, slow, peaceful nights - tremendous. No sweaty writhing at night, no rapist sun smashing through the window just as I'm trying to nod off. So, I've been in a state of blissed out hibernation. I was a fool to ever pick a fight with the Sandman. Sleeping's great! Even better-than-drugs half sleep (sle?) is preferable to yawning stifly in front of Richard Whitely, or doing anything stifly in front of Richard Whitely. (Carol Vorderman, however...) All my body has to do is tip me the wink, and I'm off upstairs like a shot. Lights out.

Lying abed twiddling your whatever feels so right when it's cold out. It's what you're supposed to do. Read a chapter of the book and slip off into the realms of fantasy and make-believe. Fuck ski-ing. I've been having a lot of trippy, lucid dreams. A staple diet of David Lynch, Residents videos and grilled cheese sandwiches will do that for you. The George Foreman grill is a gateway to some outrageous, bone-chilling dreams. When I'm not dreaming about finding eyeballs in the park, I'm taking a small child upstairs to feed the monkey in my bedroom. We creep upstairs clutching bananas tightly to our side, entering the room only to find that the monkey has climbed out of his enclosure and is lurching toward me, his face contorting as he attempts to speak. The first word is a muffled shout of "Bluebird". Then he shuffles in front of me drunkenly and I think he's going to attack me soon. His head lolls from side to side. I try and reason with him, this lumbering autistic monkey but his widening eyes just roll about in his head and his mouth forms a vacant, learing smile. I can't tell if he's stupid, threatening or laughing. I throw the banana over his head, behind his cage (which is full of ornate furniture) and flea the room.

Obviously, there was far more to it than than, but it's all you need to know. Man, it was fucked up. I loved it. It was exciting and scary and I was glad that was how I spent the afternoon, instead of drinking coffee and trying to stay focused on the paper. I'd much rather have a really intense, scary dream like that than none at all. The new pillows have made a big difference. I don't know why I suffered so long with the old torture blocks. I just like lying in bed, alone and warm, with the freedom to imagine anything I want to. I'm reading a lot more now that I've stopped solitary drinking, and it's a great feeling knowing that even if I can't sleep I can just flip the light back on and take in a few more chapters. Literature, anti-histamines, optimism and good pillows are my 3 best friends at the moment. I might even treat myself to some new pyjamas.

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