Today, like every day, I battled the insanity of the London underground at peak hour. Anyone who has experienced this will join me in a unanimous groan of frustration. You get pushed at, cut off, barraged, sworn at and generally harassed. I think more people would throw themselves in front of the train if their fellow commuters weren’t so willing to help them onto the tracks. Sometimes, I think this is only happening to me, like I’m Jim Carrey in ‘The Truman Show’ and the whole world is somehow clued in to the mechanisms plotting against me while I naively go along with it.
Have you ever searched deep in your mind for the right word and felt it just out of reach?
A few weeks ago I had a dream that my house was haunted. It wasn’t the ghost of an old lover or a demon creature with horns and a tail. It was more like an invisible force that possessed the power of stealing the lexicon of anyone that crossed its path. My house was snatching the words right out of my mouth before I could even open it to speak. It was a slow process starting with the loss of words like kettle or archery or jellyfish. Eventually words like trouble and scared and alone were slipping away from me like water through my fingertips. It finally reached a stage where I could no longer express how I felt so I buried myself under the covers of my bed and never emerged again.