The days are slowly warming up but my spirit is still stuck in winter. Six months is a long time, the Garden City has been both good and bad to me, but I hold no grudges or feelings of being alienated.

The borderline between conciousness and dreams are pretty blur in the weeks after my sickness, lucid, vivid and surreal state of the mind. Waking up to what feels like a dream, a very bland and slow dream.

Or is it a nightmare?

The carpet needs vacuuming and the clothes are spinning in the machine. My throat is sore and my table's a tsunami-swept beach. Gotta get a grip on this reality that's slowly drifting away.

Sunny days and clear skies always bring the mood around. Walking on the bluestone sidewalk with hands in the pocket, breezing through the shady and dark streets.

The nights are quiet, the sound of cars omnipresent. Rowdy blokes and blondes having a break from their lives, drunken in their happiness. To the bed I return, taking leave from the daily life. Sleep...