Q is for queer

I'm in a flat which is flooding. It's pitch black and the water has risen to my neck. I'm scared and disoriented - I have completely lost my bearings and I have no idea how to get out. Amazingly I have a mobile phone and I'm able to call for help. I'm rescued, although I have no memory of how, just a recollection of being soaked and muddy but safe. The dream leaves it's queer imprint on me for the rest of the morning.

I feel constantly restless and agitated at the moment. My neck aches with tension. I feel that my life is ebbing away and I'm doing nothing about it. The frustration makes me want to explode. This was not helped by reading Ian McEwan's latest novel last night; 'On Chesil Beach'. A tale of how a single failure to act can influence a whole lifetime. The majority of the book is devoted to describing one night and the previous years events leading to it. The last six and a half pages fast forward almost carelessly over the next forty years of the central characters life. A painful reminder of how quickly and maliciously time slips through one's fingers.

Another cheering thought is the fact that the only post delivered at the moment is bills, bills, BILLS. I need to raise some finance but how? The state my body is in pole dancing is definitely out. I don't have an attic, never mind cash in it. And who can be bothered to go through the rigmarole of photographing individual items just to earn a few pence on E-Bay? So there's only one solution. I'll have to win the lottery. I've splashed out the extra 50p for a Euromillions ticket - well, you have to spend money to make money.

Katy

(What makes you Quiver?)