A strange thing happened to me last night. I closed my eyes, started thinking about all kinds of things that don't really matter, and then suddenly woke up at 6:30am.
The washing-up was undone. The lights were still on and the washing machine was flashing at the end of its cycle. The house was still living in yesterday, but I was very clearly waking up in today.
How does this kind of thing happen? I'd made a really nice pasta dish, with veggie sausages, peppers and cheese and tomatoes in it, and I'd sat in the park eating it from a plastic lunchbox. I had a bottle of ice-cool Lipton tea and a view of the sunset, and it had all been great. Then I'd pushed back through the leaves, and gone home.
Moments later, I woke up in this morning.
The morning sky was grey and autumnal. For the briefest moment I wondered whether I'd missed the summer altogether. Later of course, the sun came out again and the blue skies returned.
It might have been because I was trying to write science-fiction on my phone. I had this Bradburyesque idea about a trio of astronauts who landed on a planet made of glass. The inhabitants revered a particular glass statue, held in pride-of-place inside a marble dome, and they wouldn't let the humans touch it because they said it was too fragile. I thought maybe an allegory would tumble out of that idea, that somehow the humans' curiosity would eventually get the better of them and... but as usual, I couldn't quite make it fit.
I do wonder whether my brain might be using up all my energy. I feel tired a lot, as though I could just switch into sleep at any moment - yet, most of the day I just sit behind a computer, daydreaming about songs, poems, punctuation, and astronauts on glass planets.
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