I should be writing. I want to be writing. But we’ve been moving and unpacking and . . . Anyway, everything seems very difficult right now for some reason. Like swimming against a current. I’m tired. Not from the move, just . . . mentally fatigued.
Anyway, Neil visited me again in a dream last night (and if you’re wondering what I’m talking about, go here for some background). And this seemed to have something to do with my not being able to write lately. Except he was a furniture salesman. And though he was wearing a black shirt, he was wearing white pants, and we all know that’s wrong. I’m sure it all means something, but I’m too tired to figure it out.
At any rate, in the dream Neil took me to a round table with a checkerboard painted on it and tried to show me some kind of complicated game, something he said helped him when he couldn’t write. It wasn’t checkers, but it did use little round, carved wooden discs. He called it rummy, but isn’t that a card game? I’m sure if I could remember everything he told me, I’d be smoothly sailing on with my work. Alas, I can’t remember anything he actually said; I only have this mental picture of him distributing these game pieces on the table. And I couldn’t even see what was carved on them.
Well then. We’ve watched the queen this morning, and the alarm installation is supposed to happen shortly, and I have dishes and laundry and more unpacking to do. If I’m not going to write, I should at least be useful.