It is like jumping out of a film noir piece. What is a dream and what isn’t? In front of me is
myself: suddenly the bedroom becomes a mirror and the arms I call mine reach
out and become a stranglehold. I look dangerous. Was I my own monster? I writhe
out of my grasp, realizing I am not in the real world. Outside, I breathe as
hard as Sisyphus pushes his rock. (I remember my sister once told me I move too
much in my sleep.) I move my leg to a twitch, curl my fingers. I am awake.
Monday 9 December 2013
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