Sleepless In Sackville

That dog was here again last night. I think he comes with the girl’s boyfriend. He definitely arrives in the car with the PEI plates. He is adorable (the dog, not the boy, though the boy is ok too). It’s some sort of little spaniel, black and white splotched, long floppy ears. He was in the drive when I got home last night and he attacked me, running circles around me in the snow, so playful. I could probably have a little dog here, not Nick the brute, but a small breed . . . I think this for about 20 seconds before I get to all the responsibility of a pet and ditch the idea. But I have been thinking I should offer to dogsit this particular beasty when my housemates go out, because I think they leave him alone, and I don’t think he particularly enjoys his alone time. He barks and whines for hours on end. It breaks my heart. Maybe he is just a barker and a whiner and there are people with him in the house, but I think I should find out. It would be nice to have a dog for a few hours every now and then. So, I couldn’t sleep because of the dog. When the dog slept, so did I but then the dreams came . . .

I dreamed I was in Paris under siege during the Second World War, Nazis in the streets, people disappearing from their homes at night. Nobody could be trusted. A dark dream. Cold. I was writing, I don’t know what, but I had to keep it hidden in a hollow space under the floorboards beneath a rug. It seemed to be important writing, but very dangerous work. I would only work on it by the light of a small candle in a tiny room in the middle of my apartment that was more like a big closet with no windows, no light from outside. I was writing long-hand in pencil (which I absolutely NEVER do in real writing, hate pencil) and I didn’t have proper paper so I was tearing bits of paper off the walls. In the back of closets, behind paintings and mirrors, in places where it might not be immediately noticed, the walls had been stripped for paper. An intense dream. Exhausting.

Mood: jumpy
Drinking: coffee, recycled, with cream
Listening To: washer whining wail
Hair: thought it wanted darkness, leaning into sunshine today

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