If I am writing less at the moment this is entirely due to this birch tree growing in my garden. Struggling with hayfever, I have resorted to antihystamines. The thing about antihystamines is – I don’t know what they do to other people – they turn me into a dormouse. I would be happy now to curl up in my teapot for the rest of the early summer.
The up side to this induced comatose state is that, despite the house being filled with the despair of teens approaching examinations, I float through much of it unscathed. For this short while, I pass through life tuned out of their frantic broadcasts. I help them revise, I talk them down from hysteria, I sound the alarm if they start to talk about doing something stupid to themselves, but I am just a little less torn apart by it all. I am mildly disengaged, looking forward to the end of the day when I can fall into my big quiet bed and sleep the sleep of the just (or in this case, the drugged).