Do you know some people think I'm stressed?
Apparently I'm quite cool in the waking world. I know my shit, I can fly with the best of them (and that's not street), and yet I have awful dreams and nightmares, I continue to bite my tongue in my sleep, and I can't eat anything without feeling quite ill. Perhaps I'll just stick to coffee and milkshakes. Who needs food anyway?
Pill, DarkHorse and I went to the pub last night to watch the game. It was nice, and it wasn't too busy. I was nearly asleep in my chair when the full-time whistle was blown. I have no idea why I zonked out so much, but the walk home woke me up for another three hours.
Everytime I think about writing now it calms me. Well, not calms me. I start thinking about a world that's not our own, and a place that I control, and where the possibilities are becoming more and more plausible each day. They're not, but you know what I mean I hope. It's been the tiniest of sparks in my life of work and play, and it's certainly something new to focus on.
I know I've started sounding like a madman recently. And 'one of those people' who talk about their books all the time, but I honestly don't mean to. There are lots and lots of scenes in my head just playing over and over, each time perfecting themselves, and the nasty ones get worse. Perhaps that's where the nightmares come from.
I might go back on the Kalms. We'll see what happens tonight.