The horrors of dreams. Thankfully I woke up and realized I no longer get black eyes falling out of hotel beds or walking in to things or falling over (but don't put it passed me on occasion) that our bed is just about the loveliest thing I can imagine, that Julie is sleeping quietly, and that the past has long gone. But nomatter how defined life might become in middle age, I still wake up every now and again with those visions, they appear rather necessary when I think about it. I need to savour it all at least to say- 'well I don't need to do that now....etc etc....pretty much did it....etc etc......glad I'm still here'
For those readers out there who are still in the midst of waking up in cells, wondering who it is next to you, worrying about the reprehensible things you might or might not have done with a vodka bottle, with black eyes and ruined suits, ragged wits and frayed nerves, those clutching for their wallets in desperation, those crying in the afternoon, dependent on the kindness of those you did whatever it was with the previous night, I salute you.