I took extra pain killers last night. They didn't send me to sleep. They just made my head buzzier.
I lie awake and plot my novel.
The man next door works unsocial hours and has a terrible cough. Huh-hurr, huh-hurr, huh-hurr.
Those people with the yard dogs- how can they stand that incessant racket up close? They must be old and deaf.
The less I sleep the more intensely I dream. Last night Laurence Olivier was directing me in Macbeth. He was explaining his own greatness to me. "Maybe it's not where I come from," he said. "It's from whence I came."