clouded

I honestly cannot seem to get my subconscious out of Zimbabwe, and I still can't work out what these dreams are trying to tell me. Most recently it was a particularly surreal post-apocalyptic dream-Zimbabwe, with a pitiful remnant of survivors picking through the massive, brooding ruins of the city while mist wreathed their ankles and strange things threatened from the dark. Once again I was in my grandmother's house, although this time with half the furniture missing. The apocalyptic bit is clearly a straightforward reflection of the country's current disaster state, but why the preoccupation with the grandparents' house? Too odd.

Not enjoying this weather. I'm always slow and stupid in the heat, which is not helping this chapter much, although I think some kind of new, improved version is slowly emerging from the mass of verbiage and cobbled-over logic holes. In a vague, hopeless attempt to dilute this endless sunshine, here's a cloud. A metatextual word cloud, thus encapsulating several obsessions. Note the importance of tea, cats, moles and chocolate consumption.