Premonitions?

After six hours attempting to complete my essay I am flat out. At this hour the only sounds are from my keyboard, Connex trains on the Sydenham/Werribee lines, trucks on Footscray Rd and the hum of my trusty portable fan.

I quite like having the room to myself; on my table I've built up a collection of things that make me happy. Ear rings/studs from a while ago. Little cutouts of pusscat hidden between pieces of wrapping paper. A bottle of Jungle Juice, half used. I love them all.

Nightmares. It's unusual to have these dreams so early in the day. I've had exactly thirty seven minutes on my pillow but that's enough time to make me reconsider sleeping. It was a dream about mom, she was making me eat soap because I didn't do my homework. Tiny fragments of memory are all that's left of her.

Pampering myself in front of the heater is indulgence; I'm sure pusscat would agree. Greville St. One year ago we were happy, pusscat was healthy and the world was predictable. I miss how he climbed limb onto my lap to say "hug me, bitch". He's gone now.

How do you deal with self-righteousness? Yesterday I thought I was the best person in the world; for the first time I looked at my body in the mirror and considered touching myself, now I didn't mean it that way but I felt I would do me.

Daniel is still coping with a few issues/insecurities of his own, mainly sleep issues I think. I've let myself breathe a little; these days I am beyond obsessing. Maybe I'm still grieving?

Two apartments. I'd like to have one for myself and one for him. Then I can make a little space for myself without intrusions, lavish myself on furniture and fittings he will grudgingly admire, cook horrible smelling things to his disgust and plant a forest in the corner of my brown/beige lounge. Everything will be brown/beige. Straight lines. Clean surfaces. Because minimalist decor seeks feelings, not provides it. Clutter reduces my ability to think.

I admit I'm scared but happy. I have twelve whole weeks to feel good about this place.