I woke up obscenely early as is my usual practice to get on with the usual fixings, but my legs were wrapped in such endearing sizzle of volcanic comfort that I felt like a mermaid, unable to walk on land. I kept lying there willing time to pause for a mo, so I could savour the scorching succor and in that lightening fast fraction of a few seconds I shut my eyelids to see that I was slowly falling in slowest of slow motions on a huge table that was piled on with backpacks. And I kept falling, until I almost hit the table.
Everything happening super slow like a fly being swallowed by gravity in treacle.
I kept falling until my back hit the floor, and I commenced to close my eyes, my hands in a light fist near my neck and I saw myself sleep with unseemly content.
This entire dream frame took no more than a few seconds start to finish, and I suddenly opened my eyes, realizing it was a dream and that I actually slept and had been for the past fifteen minutes.
Yikes!!
To get up with gymnastic precision and put on reasonable clothes to assuage winter morning chill was for me the work of a moment. Before I realized I was cooking oats and slapping butter on toasts and chopping shallots.
I was buzzing with activity, lightening fast and mad with anxiety. I mean if I were a transformer this morning I'd be frenzy.
So phew that done.
After all that I nudged back the folds of my still-warm morning duvet and sought the comforts of similar sleep, except it was slow in coming.
Sigh, sleep is such a fickle muse. To come only when you hope to triumph life and then nonchalantly trumping your hopes.
Time for second breakfast.
Soon. Hearts.
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