I'm having a nap in my writing room. I feel a bit weird. I'm exhausted and maybe dehydrated. A glass of water and orange is on the other side of the room. It's within reach, yet it seems so far away.

Falling asleep, I find myself sitting on a bench in a small tent.

The sloping canvas roof of the tent keeps slapping against my head and face. It's white and light pushes through it. It bulges inwards with the wind, as though an animal is shoving it from the other side, but I know it's just the wind. 

Still, I swat at it, as if there is some sentience behind it.

Meanwhile, although I see nothing, I feel things like large spiders crawl up my leg and into my lap. I try to get used to the feeling, because it would be nice not to be bothered by such things. All they are going to do, if they are real, is touch me, I reason. They won't even touch me; only my clothes.

After less than half a minute, I can't take it anymore and I'm swatting at them. This means, therefore, that I'm swatting at nothing and I know it.

Outside, footsteps. 

My friend: "'Ello, mate. Can I come in?"

In my writing room, my hood is over my face. I get up and stagger to the door, holding onto things to steady my way.

There's no-one there.

I flop back down and drink that glass of water and orange.

Later, I ask my friend if he called out to me earlier.

He says no.

​I'm driving a taxi to earn some extra cash. My friend yells at me for not switching on the fare computer.

My very first turn as a taxi driver - left - is wrong.

My passengers are worried about being shot down.

Yep. That could happen.

A woman in white is laughing, but she's in another dream. 

I land the car and help a naked fairy. She was tortured and stripped. I clothe her and we jump to freedom. She lands beautifully, but I land some way off. The distance frees me from her spell and I realize that she is using me. 

The fairy is dictating a blog post as she steals my car. I could run and get in, but I don't want to. 

That woman in white is still laughing, but she's still in the wrong dream.

A young man has worked out how to talk to evil spirits. You have to use a raspy voice, high in the hertz.

He screws his face up as he demonstrates. Listening to his voice, I feel the world change a little, like something new is looking our way, the way a bear might look at ripe fruit hanging high in a tree. Or it's like a window has been pushed open a few inches and a distant wind blows through our world.

As I hang up washing, I hear someone complaining about me. They are saying that I am evil. 

I finish hanging the washing.