Last night I had a dream that someone stole my baby.

Mind you, in my dream the baby was a turtle. And whilst said amphibian-child was in the hands of an old lady who wanted to take it to a coffee morning, Artemis decided to eat a bag of drugs rendering her in need of instant medical attention from my work colleagues. They began CPR, later concluding that this was impossible because my stinky kitty has deformed ribs.*

Meanwhile, some snotty kid I went to school with had decided to walk to Poland to find the turtle-child. Except that Poland was a tiny hamlet in the north-east of Scotland called Craigdam so it wasn’t actually that far and none of us liked him anyway…

Despite the fact that all of this is utterly ridiculous, I woke up  worried about the turtle to the point of near hysteria, and terrified that the cat was going to die. Thankfully, Stinky-bum-McWhiskers (as S- calls her) is perfectly fine, and according to the internet, no one has ever given birth to a turtle anyway. Still, I go to work feeling as if I’ve been up for  half of the night fretting and as a result, I am absolutely exhausted. I’m having real trouble forcing my shoulders down from around my ears where my stiff neck informs me they’ve been since the dream began.

Roll on March 1st. Roll on days of sleep and putting my feet up, and eating something hot for breakfast which isn’t microwaved porridge oats.

Off I go!

_____

*I don’t know whether she really does or not, but in my dream they were all different sizes and perfectly straight.

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