A Tuesday Night of a Slow Week

A night of interrupted sleep, bad dreams and rain. Half-nightmares of some kind of apocalypse. The air and land being infected. Walking on the ground causing people to melt. Ambulancemen turning up, unimpressed that I was not infected. In a house with people I work with. The owners are away - something to do with the apocalypse. We are barred from going upstairs by a barrier of polythene. I suggest removing this, but no-one think this will be a good idea but me. I say that if the owners survive and return we could return to them their house.

Waking up in the dark, and I remember the curtains of my room shining as if some fragment of the moon had become caught on it. Then the alarm, then getting dressed for work, then out into a landscape of bleak rain and flood rumours.

A grey day.
Nothing happened.

My window rattles in the frame. I'm going to have to stick my knife in it like I had to last winter.
I really wish the man next door would stop playing the guitar.

The bathroom is still not fixed.