A Distant Dream

I went home from Tiptree to my flat late on Saturday morning to pick up my repeat prescription, as the last pack of tablets was about to run out. The firework burst in Saturday's blip was taken from my lounge window, where I had a grandstand view of two different displays along the valley. I stayed there overnight, worrying about Mum being on her own back in Essex. My niece and her husband took Mum to the hospital on Saturday afternoon to visit Dad, but she spent the evening and night alone. It felt strange to be back in the familiar calm and solitude of my own home, like a distant dream of another life before the storm of Dad's illness broke over us. It feels as if we have been driving to and from Colchester Hospital for about ten years.

I pulled back the curtains on Sunday morning to reveal this dreamy sight of the valley below my flat. By 10.30 a.m. I was back in Essex, and my brief respite from the nightmare that we are in the middle of was over.

I haven't listened to any music for a long time, but my journal title made me think of this track by German band Propaganda.