Weird dreams (about doing dishes with Carla in a kitchen I had never seen before, in a supermarket carpark and which seemed to belong to former local MP Hilary Calvert, only too be interrupted by my 3rd form maths teacher to tell me she had found a wife) woke me up too early.
It has been a thing recently. Not enough sleep, too many dreams.
And about the first thought after waking up is the disappointment that I didn't die in my sleep.
Every time I talk to anyone I know, and they ask me how I am, I hear the little voice screaming at me for being such an awful liar when I say fine. But I'm a New Zealander, 'fine' is the only socially acceptable answer to the question.
I should try to sleep.
Ranting can wait for another day.
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