be thou my vision

When they tore down the old halls, they sent the wildlife scurrying. They say there's an infestation in the pub, so last night I dreamt about cockroaches.

The only way to find the cockroaches was with these sticks, like drumsticks. We sifted through piles of clothes in the house trying to find them and kill them.

When I left my sticks on the floor, they started to spin.

Why's that? What's making that happen?

Someone from church comes over and tells me that's what happens when people die, their spirit leaves through the floor and makes objects move.

I say that's not very Christian. They ask, what would I know? The sticks start spinning again, a cockroach runs across my bedroom ceiling and music starts to play.

I'm talking in my sleep a lot more recently. And crying, apparently. I have 2,500 words to write for tomorrow. I'm not... bothered, exactly, but sleeping's getting kind of tough. He tells me I worry too much and I think, you have no idea.

Since writing this, three worship songs in a row have come on WMP. The big ones, the sad ones, the ones that make you cry when you're beating your head against the door and waiting for God to answer.

Some things hurt more than others.

The blister on my ankle is fine. That's fine.

The twisted ankle from falling off the pavement last night, it's not too bad.

The 'I've just discovered triple gin and tonics' hangover hurts pretty bad.

The dream last night hurt the most. I fell down the stairs at my parents house, dropped the dinner I'd been carrying and hurt myself. I was too sad to get up, but no matter how much I called out, none of my family would come and help me. I woke up whimpering, why won't daddy come and help me?

What hurts? That picture, the light of the world, the door being opened and Christ walking in, face full of concern.

The door jammed shut. Must have been the bugs.