Something is wrong.
The black dog has me by the knee and is worrying me sore. I had hoped for some good news this week, and I have had no word. Val pointed out that no news is good news. The way my mind works I immediately jump to the corollary; therefore all news is bad news.
My dreams have been particularly vivid and emotional lately and invariably involve one or other of my darling wives. Strangely, dreams of the latter wife are dark and angry, indicating some unresolved issues, I suppose, but those of the former are placid and hopeful. I am sad to awaken from them.
As far as I can tell my apnoea is not the cause. The nasal pillows fit, I am breathing ok, and sleeping well enough. However I am reluctant to get up in the mornings, and would sleep in all day if I could, were it not for the need to eat, drink and excrete.
I am quite at a loss to explain the way my subconscious is working right now.
At home on my RDO and weekend days, I am trying to find productive things to do. I have repaired my bed; replacing the flimsy faux wrought iron between the wooden bedposts with some beautifully grained dark timber salvaged from a door-frame kindly given to me by my neighbour Sarge, the glazier. I have taken up the legs of my new trousers, sewed and repaired various items, made some new model D&D characters. Each effort a slight improvement over the last. Mostly though, when I am feeling down I look to food as an outlet. So far I have managed to cook more than I eat, but at least I have resisted the temptation just to scoff it all. It is the making that is the fun part. I give it away if I can, or store it for later consumption.