There will now be a short intermission from sadness
I’m not managing my medication that well. So, having thought that I’d taken it yesterday, I hadn’t. Which meant, as usual, extremely deep sleep and bizarre dreams. Last night I was Sherlock Holmes’ girlfriend (Yep, Bundersnatch Cummerbund) and was carrying twins which Dr Watson delivered on the floor of the Baker Street flat. They were both fine, a boy and a girl, since you ask and once cleaned up were beautiful babies. Mycroft, however, was unimpressed.
Managing depression is often tough, but last night, for a few hours, admittedly whilst unconscious, life was great. Until my detective boyfriend then copped off with Mrs Hudson’s friend. Bastard.
Ok, as you were.