Being in bed

Being in bed is fantastic. ‘Especially with your wife’, adds the nasty voice that has begun to be part of my inner monologue, lately.

I’ve been here for a couple of hours and every time sleep has come close, some random thought generator has crunched into action, and scared it away.

So I’ve read, but that didn’t stop the nasty internal monologue.

Then I edited a few posts in the secret blog; just corrected a mis-spelled surname. Don’t go and look for it. Only I can see it now.

And then I just lay here, waiting for sleep. It hasn’t arrived, obv.

Have I mentioned that I’m going out on Friday? Pizza in Covent Garden with a few blog/Twitter friends.

I’m going to stay in town overnight, getting back here is such a pain in the arse.

Going to the Oxford Playhouse on Saturday evening. Frisky and Manish. Or that’s the plan, anyway.

Work is mental and busy.

The podcast doesn’t seem to be taking a hit in audience numbers, which is lovely.

And I’m not crying quite as much as I have been.

Though the urge to wreak terrible vengeance and swift and shocking violence on one or two guys, is incredibly strong.

So that’s it for now I guess. Let’s try for some sleep. Again.

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