These late night conversations with myself get particularly bizarre around 4 a.m. It’s those endless damned rounds of “what if?” that send me off the rails. If I could just convince the voices to talk quietly among themselves, I could get some sleep. I need a bouncer for my head – figuratively speaking, of course. Hmmm… on the other hand, maybe a cricket ball in the face will do the job too. Worth a try.
It’s difficult to explain, but it’s as if my reality is becoming less coherent as my relevance to her diminishes. It’s kind of reminiscent of the process in Terry Pratchett’s Small Gods. Could it be the same for people? I’m beginning to feel – I don’t know – intangible. Nice paradox there, don’t you think?