I made time to make the bedroom an oasis – feathers still floated to earth from the night before. I crossed the desert by boat and wrote to Natalie from a rocky outcrop. I tied the message to a dove. I alternated dinner with the act of making an exact reproduction of me from soap, washed myself well and went to work. I plugged in the tree and waited for the tiny feet to light up, reminding me that my new shoes make my own feet pong.
June and I (joined by butterfly wings) went out for the day. The first part of the journey was crawling through a narrow tube and then we fell, among coins, into a funnel. I mentioned to June about the heat coming from a walking stick. We came back disguised as spaghetti. I later had to descend the crawling steps to work among the familiar orange lanterns. I pretended to milk cows while the gnome guards marched over head.
I had to fly out in to the countryside on the back of a house sparrow. I talked with the sheep man in the paddock with hair instead of grass. The grass had gone grey and I turned the pages on the television screen. I came home just as the antelope had managed to escape the lion; I sat down on top of a cake and waited for the voices to start. My time as a gladiator was short and I brought my grass hair skirt to lay in the family room.
I got up late; squeezing my telephone voice back into the toy box, I speedily took off the model building site I was wearing, jumped into my cereal bowl and licked out the bath. Watching the door for representatives of the bat people I rushed to the shops and then to the test tube where I work. I threw a number of small animals onto the coat rack and searched my pockets for cognizant seaweed. Triceratops were moving up the valley.
I sprawled about on a saucer musing on the missing cup for some of the tea service morning. I then jumped into the bath pretending it was the gateway to heaven, floating out to ride a cloud to work. I attempted to eat a bow and quiver of arrows and then artificially smiled at everyone who came in from the cold. I met my match with the young man who had swallowed a medieval catapult. June remained in the castle.
I spent the laughing part of the day with a little princess, drinking tea through a walkie-talkie and eating pies from a plastic hair dryer. After I emerged from the polar bear den I had to trudge to my place of work, standing in the spotlight and making glove puppets from used chewing gum. I spit this part of the day out and returned home to count steam locomotives as they sped by a menagerie of small furry animals.
Christmas Morning (I got up at the same time as I went to bed). June and I went out as pantomime characters – she in a pumpkin coach, me with a pumpkin head. I heard the laughter from the other side of the hill as we galloped down the side of a giantess. I hid some happy memories in my pocket and then clasped a signal box to my chest while June tried on some new shoes. After dinner we walked underwater listening to the seasonal sounds.