I woke up early again this morning but felt surprisingly perky after the usual round of epic dreams.
I have been consistently waking up at six a.m. for weeks now, exhausted and panting, having escaped the White Walkers for the umpteenth time. Oh Freud, what would you have to say about me?
But, I’ve moved on from binge watching Game of Thrones, along with the other addicted viewing millions as we wait, anxiously twiddling our fingers, for Season 8 to explode on to our screens in 2019.
My nocturnal fantasies took off into the realms of Tomb Raider last night. Where, as Lara Croft, I’m remarkably sprightly. I don’t think I’ve run that fast since I last went to an athletics meeting… when I was fifteen.
Surprisingly, I still felt on my toes, like a racehorse in training, as I pranced downstairs to make my first cup of coffee. I’m feeling elated, because I really feel I’m finally getting to my shit together with this, seemingly endless, editing process. I think I even cracked the ****ing synopsis yesterday.
So… I’m really not sure why my upbeat first-thing-in-the-morning banter is so unappreciated by other members of the household; dressed in suits and about to hit the morning rush hour. They glower at me prancing around in my pyjamas and feel the need to send me texts whilst they are on the way to work… to remind me to do things.
I really can’t work out why they have such an inability understand how exhausting and time-consuming it is to be armpit deep in an edit, so it is inevitable that I lose track of time, as the days flash by in an instant.
Ah, well, I suppose I should think about getting out of my pyjamas.