Restless

...probably because I am now waiting to move out of the bedsit, and cannot really do anything as yet, and nothing is as yet planned. It is here where I am most restless, waiting for sleep, waiting for that alarm to go off in the too-early bright summer mornings.

At lunchtime Is at in St Nicholas Churchyard and continued reading 'The Canal' which is proving to be quite entertaining. Three women sat over the other side of the path from me, scattered amongst the tombs on their coats and blankets. They all faced the same direction -toward the dead lamp in the dark corner- as if they were an audience for some curious experimental art performance. On a larger tombstone, an incongruously smart and dreadlocked hippy crouched, watching the women. Perhaps he knew them. I imagined him to be a security guard, or perhaps a bouncer, at this strange, imagined art performance.

Oddly intense dreams last night, of people I once knew, and now do not any longer. I dreamt of Paul, lost now to schizophrenia and the mental health care system. He was asking me why we had forgotten him, and did we want to know him any more, to which I replied that we certainly did, but he had not contacted us for so long and we did not know how to contact him any more.
In another dream, I was talking to Paula Marron, whom I attended Langley College with. This was 18 years ago now. I think, in the dream, I was at Southampton. I was telling her of the mutual people we had been at college with I was still in contact with, and she was doing the same. I wonder where she is now?

Summer is here, the sun is hot and the sea looks unreal. The streets are full of vulgarians and unamusing drunkards. The launderette is busy with holidaymakers, and the air in Brighton feels strangely dry and lacking. I'd like to walk by a canal for miles and miles... perhaps the Grand Union out of Uxbridge and adolescence, into whatever countryside I never managed to reach at the time.
These days are restless.
I'll think I'll head to the sea at twilight.