Wasting daylight

As sick as I am, absolutely anything I do is just an effort to kill time until I can take my next tablets. The last half an hour is usually the most painful, waiting wise. Usually I've finished all of what had occupied the last 3 and a half hours but left myself with too little time to do anything else. This becomes "mope around the house talking to the cat and boredom eating" time. Between coughing fits and efforts to dislodge the copious amounts of mucous from my nose, that is. 

Here's something I didn't know, that book, "the secret garden" is (apparently) about female sexuality. I always thought it was something like Narnia, but stupid and fantastical and boring, and therefore never read it. I guess I skipped a level (or two) when it comes to sexuality; I went straight to Ruth Ostrow (Australia's Nancy Friday). I guess I should read it, catch up in the basic ideas and ideals, it might provide me with a different angle on the subject. But in the mean time I'm perfectly happy with the physical and psychological torment inflicted on the protagonists in my horror books. 

I need to find more good psychological thriller books, I often wonder if others have the same inner torments as I do. 

Being unhindered by normal fears, my nightmares have turned to more tortuous means of fear. Some of the dreams I have are now of the ones I love dying, not the event itself but the aftermath, the grief and, often, the return of my malevolent foe; the depression I had quashed so narrowly before it gained the power to cause me self-harm. These dreams leave me weak and shaken, often quite miserable for days. 

The other of my psychological dreams are a mixed bunch, they're everything from thought provoking to downright questionable. This includes episodes of sleep paralysis, the most popular being the "impending doom approaching from behind, if I could just turn and look at it everything would be fine." The more thought provoking ones tend more towards the H.P. Lovecraft's "The Thing on the Doorstep," involving disgusting creatures that pose no threat that leave one wrought with a mixture of disgust, pity and helplessness. Some of these tend to be very curious, so curious that, even at 4am, I can't help but write them down for review with the waking mind. I haven't really dreamt since the last one (and yes I know we always dream, I mean I haven't had one that stayed with me in the slightest after waking). That one I shall post cordially, when I can be bothered typing it. 

For now, 

Little Blue