poor mama

Toscar is here, taking a late night shower. He’s staying the night which inevitably means some hanky panky and an argument about something incredibly trivial. I made dinner (a plate of burned everything and some bread) and we watched shit TV. I toyed with showing him something I’d written but chickened out at the last minute.

Something weird happened today actually – I read something on wordpress that reminded me of my mother (over on’ Jo Was Here’ – please go check her out) so I knocked out an email to dear mama. When she hadn’t replied after twenty minutes I neurotically called her and she informed me that she had literally just escaped death. A runaway car had mounted the pavement and missed her by mere inches whilst she was walking the dog. She was a total nervous wreck, still on the pavement, I could even hear her shaking over the phone. This is especially weird because I had a very long and very involved dream last night that I was trying to save my mother from nuclear fall-out. London was in ruins and it was just me and her, picking through the wreckage, and I woke up with this unimaginable fear of anything happening to her. Horrible. And to think, she was just inches away from apocalypse. I told Toscar all of this when he came in, and in his own inimitable style he asked me ‘so where the fuck was I in this dream? Vapour-fucking-rized? Very nice.’

Must dash, wet boy emerging.

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One thought on “poor mama

  1. Wow!!
    Your poor mum, but lucky… shoot!

    Ooh, thanks for the shoutout, I’m blushing.

    Enjoy the wet boy! šŸ˜‰

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