Adrift and Uncomfortable.

There’s something about being constantly alone that seeps into your body until every twitch or grind of nerve, muscle, sinew or organ becomes magnified. And then all you want to do is go to sleep, so that the twitching and grinding will slumber too and leave you in peace for a few hours.

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This blog is floating in the cold of the cosmos at the moment. Hardly anyone reads it now (with good reason, no doubt.) And it really doesn’t matter because I’ve always said that the purpose of the blog is to let off steam and steam doesn’t have to go anywhere in particular, just as long as it moves away and leaves an empty vessel behind.

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They’ve all gone, you know: the old readers, the Lady B, the priestess, and the rest. My daughter seems disinclined to communicate with me at the moment and I talk to my ex by phone once a week. That’s about it, apart from the invaders of my space who are not entirely welcome there. And writing stuff like this is probably the reason why, but what should I write about when the view from the window is just one distant star after another?

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I find it a little mysterious that the news from Ukraine has suddenly disappeared from the BBC online news pages, and instead we’re being regaled with the complexities of the Northern Ireland protocol. I suppose it’s all to do with proper priorities in the world of aliens back on the planet where I used to live.

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Isn’t it odd how you can hear a piece of music hundreds of times, and then one day you hear a bit of some melody or bass line you’ve never heard before? Getting used to singing Benson, Arizona in my sleep.