Insecurity much?

I dreamed that the cats ran away and left me, to join a back-alley gang. In my own back alley.

O my subconscious, could you be a little less obvious next time, plzkthx?

Trifecta

To follow on from losing my publisher yesterday, this day brought a utilities bill that was significantly more than I'd budgeted for, and then the revelation that there is significantly less wriggle-room in my bank account(s) than I had thought. I am no longer worrying how I might get through March; February is now the problematical month. Well done, March. Worry-free... *is a Zen worrier*

In other and more immediate news, this soup I just made was meant for lunches, tomorrow and ongoing. Trouble is, it's just so nice, I kind of want to abandon the plans I had for supper and have soup instead. It's really salty (two ham-joints boiled in the same water? Of course it's salty!) but that seems to be what I crave just now. Salt meat and pulses and soft luscious fat, oy. I could die of wanting. But I don't need to. *has*

Sometimes, a word does just mean what you want it to mean

So I had the last glass of wine from a bottle, and I clearly wasn't working, so I thought I'd settle down to watch a DVD about the Guinea Pig Club. Because that's research, and hence counts as working, of a sort.

I thought one glass of wine would see me through, and then I could have dinner, and and and.

Ten minutes in, and I am needing a gin. So far we've only come through the accidents - no, that's the wrong word: if somebody shoots at you and hits you, that may be many things but it's not an accident - through the incidents that put these guys in hospital. Everything that follows is yet to come. There are heroisms all around us, but these guys are extraordinary. (Or were, most likely: the documentary was made ten years ago, and they were in their eighties then. But still. The record is just crackling with life. And I am coming over all sentimental, and much in need of gin.)

In which I scare myself stupid (and am bored)

So I was watching my first game of Twenty20 (a short form of cricket, for the uninitiated), and - as suspected - not enjoying it very much. For me cricket is all about context over time, subtle shifts of power and momentum, balance above all; where there is no time there is no balance.

But anyway. I was bored, kinda, with all that slogging. So I went to get my laptop - and found the front door open, Mac sitting on the doorstep gazing out at the world.

Bless him, he came back in when he saw me. I shut the door very carefully, and then called Barry. And was quite prayerful for an atheist, until I heard the thump of dainty paws above. I could've lost both cats, very easily; just for that moment, I did think I'd lost one.

No idea how. I hadn't locked the door - obviously - but it had been very firmly shut for hours. Either one of the cats opened it, or someone passing did, or else it was the poltergeist. Sometimes I have to remind myself I'm an atheist, and do not believe in poltergeists. Too much stuff ends up on the floor when even the cats aren't near it.

But anyway. Two boys present and correct; one relieved and very fretful Chaz. Going to have a bath now, and go to bed, and see who comes for a snuggle.