If I Was My Bedsprings

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I know it’s not abseiling

Hello and welcome to tired. Tired plus, in fact. Super tired. Busy and fulfilling weekend but oh so exhausting tired. Lots of driving tired. Singing tired. Insomnia tired.

You get the picture.

Monday is me and a bed and sleep and very little else. Unless digestive biscuits count. Are they things? Do they have substantial enough world presence in their own right to be more than a fractional addition to my own existence? Are chocolate digestives more pertinent than plain ones? Answers on a packet of biscuits please. Cookies if you’re American. Bird seed if you’re a sparrow.

Monday is me and a bed and sleep and weirdness of brain. Nothing new there you may think. But. Think. Again. And then imagine what a giraffe would look like smoking a joint and abseiling. Or what Stalin’s moustache would have told the world if it had been capable of speech. Or what silence looks like. Yeah. We’ll try to imagine what silence looks like.

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