Can't sleep, bed's on fire
Whatever. I went to see the bum lady on Monday, seeking clarity via plumbing-assisted decongestion. The sort of bowel equivalent of having a facial. I returned cleansed but a little vulnerable and even more random.
You look like someone who's fallen out of a tree, said M. You're scrabbling round in the leaf litter wondering what's happened.
Thanks, I said. Would you care for a pickled onion?
I'm not sure I can handle any more responsibility at the moment, he replied.