Wooden It Be Nice

I don't really have a lot of words in my head at the moment.  I suppose I'm trying to process what has happened in my flat, which is essentially the rupture of a safe bubble of existence (without being melodramatic).  Outwardly everything is fine; inwardly there is a deep bruise and deep deep disappointment.  I don't want to believe there are people like that, who would take away so much without the slightest concern. 

There is this weird sleep thing which I've had for some time which expresses anxiety neatly.  It manifests in different ways.  Last night I kept dreaming that colleagues were waking me up to tell me things I had to remember when I woke up but I was too tired to remember them, and they kept waking me up to tell me other things.  That's one way.  The more common way is that I fall asleep and wake up in the wrong way.  Don't ask me what the hell that means, my brain tells me this.  Waking up in the wrong way or at the wrong time can be fatal.  Don't ask me why, my brain tells me this.  I will either go blind or die or something very bad will happen.

So a decent refreshing sleep would be great.  I have a sophisticated security measure installed downstairs - one flat piece of wood on the floor between the door and the sofabed, and another jammed under the lock and against the sofabed.  The sofabed has the qualities of the stone that sealed Jesus's tomb and I would be very surprised if anyone could move it.  If they do get past this sophisticated measure, I have the sophisticated carving knife nearby.