Ode to siesta


Fatigue creeps up on me

like a hungry bitch after lunchtime

looking for scraps of dreams

and pillow feathers to cling on.

She invites me to her bed,

warm and soft,

and gently kisses my eyelids

to a lingering state of limbo.

I let myself go between fragments

of whatifs and havetos

until I lose control.

It’s quite the fiesta,

if you know what I mean.



The pathetic sum of my vacation thus far:

  • Tissues: On box number 3 currently.
  • Pills: A great variety. Have had Ponstan for fever, Panadol extra, some basic flu-related ones and the mandatory sore throat lozenges.
  • Thermometer: A useless one that keeps pointing out I have hypothermia when I don’t.
  • Sleep: I have forgotten state of wakefulness.
  • Tea: I sleep too much to drink it.
  • Food: What is food again?
  • Dreary English weather: Non-existent. Like a bad joke, it’s sunny every goddamn day.
  • Farnham: I know the way to Sainsbury’s, but otherwise since I’m home all day I might as well be anywhere.
  • Beads: 0

A visit to the doctor today is inevitable. Would you believe that I’m actually looking forward to that?