Staying awake for thirty eight hours does strange, strange things to the senses. Not that I was staying awake that long out of choice — we’ve just had Luc in and out of hospital with a combination of croup and asthma that stopped him breathing — but in any case, around the thirty hour mark, you start to percieve things differently. I noticed that the coffee I was drinking to keep on going had actually stopped tasting like coffee… it was more like warm water that happened to keep me upright. Astonishingly, I managed to write and work in the midst of all that chaos, right up until I realised that it was taking me five minutes to find the “e” key on my keyboard….
Still, at least I didn’t, say, start hallucinating anything like a gigantic truck painted like Scooby Doo crushing cars beneath its wheels…
Oh. Bugger. Although it should be noted that the cars were filled with old tyres, which seems like a waste to me. An infinitely more dense, readily available source of crushable material is out there: Couriers.
I guess it’s just that you can’t quite be sure where the couriers are at any given moment.
The less said about this, the better, I think.