Three guys. In a room, at a window.
Me constantly tapping on the back of another
with what feels like a big white plastic hook.
He’s an ex-work colleague I don’t particularly like.
I keep tapping rapidly.
He eventually says he wishes I would stop.
I say – all you had to do was tell me.
A woman comes into the room.
A blue dress. 1960s look to her. Impersonal motherliness.
As I look at her, at one side of the room, I am aware of her likeness
simultaneously appearing in the corner of my eye on the other side,
How does she do that?
Then a hazy version of her appears beside her.
More versions proliferate in the background. I remember she is dead.
I pick up one of the other two guys, carrying him over my shoulder
towards a picture on the far wall. As I near, I point into it
looking for the funeral parlour I’m supposed to take him to, but the picture,
although getting clearer, is never clear enough.
OK. I think the first bit is quite straightforward. I’m hoping to take early retirement from psychiatric nursing soon, and with me continually pick pick picking away at the working me, who I’m not happy with, he says he wishes I wold stop (working?) the voice of wisdom tells me all I had to do was ask…it’s within my control. At the moment I’m presuming the lady in the blue dress is my creative side…we’ll see where that goes.