I am knackered. I had two hours sleep last night and don't know why. I went to bed, reasonably sober (just some beer in the shape of Hobgoblin), at a perfectly normal and unremarkable 5 am, woke from a delightfully surreal dream at 7 am and have been awake since. Pity. Some perfectly respectable and staid scientists of my acquaintance were dancing on a beach and eating fish straight from the hook. I was building houses by folding sticks together and springing them loose. One of my better flights of fancy and one I didn't want to wake from so early. Cinemascope, too.
Almost as good as the time I dreamed an entire zombie story in technicolour. I'm still writing that one.
I'm not ill or worried or depressed, just knackered.
Therefore I am self-medicating with a light elixir known as Ledaig (which is £29 in Tesco but £16 in the Morrisons that's less than a mile away for no reason I have ever managed to determine) and hoping to drug myself into catch-up sleep. It could be a combination of the intense work-related brain activity of the last few days and the absence of booze that wrecked sleep. It didn't damage the deams though.
I might visit your blog and make a comment. If it makes no sense it's because at the moment the barrier that separates dream-real from real-real is very thin indeed.
Early night tonight, I think. No later than two.