Woke at 3am then stayed awake until 6am, feelings of pressure and dry-eye discomfort, followed by three nightmares. In the first I was contacted by someone in Northern Ireland who wanted to commission me to write some music for a funeral and go there to perform it. I said that I couldn't go there until at least 2021 (and I felt anxious about any ida of trave anyway), but would happily write the music, but I found the situation disturbing and macabre, as though my death was implied. In the second I fought violently with Mark Edmonds who stole one of my power tools provocatively then taunted and insulted me, and at one point tore up my childhood soft toys. The third dream was a complex adventure which I can hardly recall but I think explosives were part of it.
As a result of this bad night I awoke beyond 10am and the morning flew by with no artistic achievements apart from vague aims and hopes. For the next day or two I must make a surround for the fireplace, and brick up the hole in my bedroom wall. In the afternoon Deb and I visited Dagfields for gifts and rest, and we then visited B & Q for supplies for the building work.
I feel restless and annoyed at my lack of art. Perhaps my soul is missing painting. Perhaps the few days of work on the house will be something of a reset. The Covid-19 news is bleak and grim. I still badly miss seeing Deb indoors, and seeing other friends. We have become a nation of monks, atheist monks.
