A Weird Day…

… Maybe I never quite shook off the weird dream that woke me (at 5.30am).
In it Himself had had his hair cut by a relative, and frankly she had made an extremely disturbing pig’s ear of it… But I had to smile and say she’d done a lovely job, while I was quietly seething…
I’m sure this must reveal something deep (and probably dark) about me.
It didn’t trouble Himself anyway, neither in the dream nor in the light of day, when I attempted to impress upon him the awfulness and enormity of it all.
He simply pointed out the nice heart that had created itself in the bedclothes.

So I got on with the day.

It rained so I didn’t feel guilty about painting.
Enthused from yesterday’s art workshop I painted like a woman possessed. (A possessed but thrifty woman, only using bits of paint left over on the palette). I blame the migraine, which does sometimes affect me in strange ways.
Five small pictures I painted.
Five.
The paintbrush was a blur.
Every single one of them was complete rubbish. (A waste of old paint).

Dreams though?
I could write a book.