Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.If I say it often enough, it might go away. I might be able to get rid of that strange thing that has developed at work. I might get back to the safety of my dream-world. It’s mid-winter and I haven’t dreamed properly since summer. I’ve been too ill, physically and emotionally.
If I say it often enough, it might go away. I might be able to get rid of that strange thing that has developed at work. I might get back to the safety of my dream-world. It’s mid-winter and I haven’t dreamed properly since summer. I’ve been too ill, physically and emotionally.Old and tattered, that’s me. That’s not the trouble. I can cope with illness. I can deal perfectly well with being bed-ridden. What I can’t deal with is
