Wrioting

is hard
sometimes

sometimes my brain feels like it has expanded to fit the room in which I write - all 3 metres x 2 metres of it (cubed) - so when I am sitting here, eyes hanging at about arms length, fingers jittery with indecision, I am sort of swimming in my own grey matter which is, you know, pretty gross.

my dog ate rat-sak and is still alive

some things I saw this week:

blood in the hallway
a skip full of a cottage that I have loved forever
yellow vomit in my toilet
white ash in a perfect circle in my backgarden
an entire sodden lost cigarette in my lawn
the inside of a suburban buddhist temple
white mist in my eyes
the work space of the nearest vet
unconscious dogs
and bound up cats
a line of little children running cross country
and two others playing bug in a rug