You may recall that when we went on holiday to Yorkshire, Mr Litlove attended a furniture making workshop with the intention of making a chair. Well, that chair is now finished and here it is in all its glory.
I’ve been thinking of it for a long while as a thing of beauty, so I was surprised when I sat on it to find how comfortable it is. The back is particularly supportive in a way that must surely be good for the digestion. But it’s pretty too, with lots of little details.
Thank you all so much for the wonderful comments on my last post – every bit as supportive and beautiful as the chair above. I really don’t know what I would do without this blogging community. I feel very badly, though, that I haven’t been around to visit you all as much as I’d like, what with one thing and another. My tooth and face are feeling better than they did last weekend. It turns out I have bruised a nerve and we are waiting to see if it will revive; if it does then all is well, so cross your fingers for me. It still feels odd and uncomfortable, but not as awful as it did. However, I have now come down with a cold, just to maintain my level of brain fogginess, and I have a mere five days to produce the next 3,500 word essay for my course with scarcely an idea to my name. Let us not give in to despair and call it instead an ‘interesting’ situation. Nevertheless, my intention is, over the course of the week, to get around all my blogging friends for a visit, and who knows but I might read something on one of your blogs that will inspire me.
I had the strangest experience a couple of days ago, that I’m sure was due in part to the new and revolting mouth guard that I have been condemned to wear by the dentist. I agreed to it out of the foolish belief it would be something like my son’s nighttime retainer, which was a clear, fine plastic thing that was almost impossible to see when he was wearing it. But oh no, my mouth guard is the kind I could play rugby in, a hulking great brute I can’t quite close my lips around. When it’s in I look like a member of The Simpsons, such is my overbite. It’s quite hard to swallow and since I’ve had a cold, not that much fun to breathe. I keep it by the bed but only put it in after lights out, in order not to scare Mr Litlove. Talk about a passion killer! I might as well pop my glass eye out and stick it in a jug of water.
Inevitably I haven’t been sleeping well while I get used to it, which is probably why, when I took my book back to bed after breakfast a few days ago (warmest place to be), I fell into a deep sleep. I am a lucid dreamer, and so once I realised I was in a dream when I really should be awake and doing other things, I told myself it was time to snap out of it. So I got out of bed, went downstairs and opened the fridge door. And I thought, hang on a minute, this isn’t my fridge. There were two of them, in fact, and they were black. Dammit, I thought, I’m still in this dream. So I had another go. I got out of bed and was halfway down the corridor when I bumped into my son, coming towards me in a white kaftan. ‘What are you doing here?’ I asked. ‘You’re supposed to be in London.’ I wasn’t surprised when he gave me a nonsensical answer. After all we don’t have anything like a corridor in our house, and as for that kaftan…! I had a couple more tries at it, two attempts at getting out of bed and going to the bathroom to run a bath. This is my normal morning routine, and the bathroom was almost like our real bathroom, but I couldn’t feel the water on my skin, always a giveaway. By now I was quite frustrated. What was I going to do? I was stuck in the dream world and who would know how to find me here?
Just as I was beginning to feel properly anxious, I felt my eyelids begin to crack open with what seemed like the grinding noise of a portcullis being wheeled up. Oh they were so heavy and wanted nothing more than to close again. But I forced them open, blinking in the daylight, and recognised my bed and my bedroom and that they were nothing like the ones in the dream. I was so sleepy it was all I could do to stay awake, but no way was I risking going back into that dream. What a postmodern nightmare! But maybe it was the kind of dream to make me cling hard to my waking life, sore tooth, mouth guard, head cold, essay deadline and all….