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Last night was one was those nights when my brain just wouldn't switch off. I thought about my friend Linda and how alone she must be feeling right now after losing her husband last week. I thought about Alan and how terrified he must have felt in those last seconds alone in his house, unable to catch his breath, his heart pounding in his chest; and I thought about the conversation we'd had when I had a coffee with him a couple of days before he died. I thought about my dad, inevitably, as he has the same illness.
I thought about the election campaign, worried about whether or not I'd put enough stuff in place, was everything going to schedule, would that schedule work? I thought about possible ideas for my dissertation in two years. I wondered what the noise I'd just heard was, before deciding it was the dog. I thought about Dave laughing at something devastatingly funny that I wish I'd said. I realised it was probably not actually that funny.
I considered getting up and eating something. I spent a little time berating myself for even considering that after I had difficulty fastening my jeans earlier. I thought maybe the three budweisers i'd drunk was probably also quite a bad idea.
I worried about the essay I'd put in the day before.
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