You’re a leaf. You’ve become unstuck and floated down from your tree and already a few humans have trampled on you. From your position on the pavement, with your leafy eyes, you look up and see all of your leafy friends and your leafy family getting on with their leafy lives. It’s not fair.
A child has clumsily made a play-doh representation of the human form. That’s you, that is.
The worst hangover ever but instead of following the time-honoured tradition of, on waking, swearing never to drink again before, that same evening, pouring a glass of wine, you just continue to feel awful. So you might as well open that bottle.*
As usual, you’ve neglected to check how much petrol you have in your car. (Yes, I know. But I’m both busy and important. Okay?). But you’re already running late and it’s not far. You’re sure that if you concentrate super hard, the fumes will get you there. Fatigue is you running on gas fumes.
Stumbling in a mosh pit. No one notices and no one can hear you ask for help. They’re having a brilliant night! You, however, are being jumped up and down on whilst the gig-goers continue to mosh atop you. Blissfully slash angrily unaware of your predicament.
Like wearing a sumo suit on a Tuesday.
Like my bank account, always.
Like teaching year 11 for three hours after they’ve just finished their maths exam.
Like my cat’s face when you try to move him during a proper fluffy and adorable cat sleep.
Like the white noise between radio stations (pre-digital).
Like being made to listen to Embrace, forever.
Like curdled milk.
Like a partially rubbed out drawing.
Like when you’re trying to describe to someone a really good dream you had, but you just can’t quite reach the memory of it.
A bit like that really.
*Please drink responsibly.