On Father's Day and Nightmares

[A writer] must teach himself that the basest of all things is to be afraid
-William Faulkner


Happy belated Father's Day, everyone. I'd like to think I've learned many things during my time in London, and one of those things is that the rest of the world apparently celebrates Father's Day on the third Sunday of June, whereas the Belgians celebrate one week earlier. So I may or may not have kept my father waiting a full week for his wishes. I'm sorry dad. I'm glad we got to make it up with a Skype session, despite my insane work schedule. I love my dad, and not having the opportunity to sit with him and share a cup of coffee is one of the things I miss most here in The Big Smoke.

Some good news -- our neighbour checked into rehab. Her sister is currently taking care of the kids, and she's a really nice person (her name is Shirley and I talk to her every day). The kids don't seem to miss their mother all that much, which perhaps is a little sad, but it's good to know she's at least trying to get her life in order.

Now, I have to be completely honest with you. These last few days have been rough. Work has been very busy, as you might have imagined, and there have been times where I was just physically spent. Outside of my working hours there's just so much time spent on watching the World Cup, helping colleagues with their pieces and so much more. But really, work hasn't been the issue. For some reason, I'm just not feeling well, ill at ease. Something is wrong, and I can't seem to figure out what it is. I don't often get cranky, but there have been times I wanted to strangle a little kid for screaming too much in the past days. Little things like that, and I don't know why.

I've been having a lot of nightmares lately. It started a few weeks after I came to London, and for a while, it seemed to be getting better. I don't really remember ever having nightmares growing up, just the occasional bad dream. A month or so ago I thought I was starting to get over it, but they returned a week or two ago and haven't stopped ever since. And not just bad dreams--full on nightmares, and waking up sweating and screaming after just a few hours of sleep. Once or twice a week at first, but now it's every single night, and it doesn't stop. I'm almost scared to go to bed. I'll wake up and remember everything vividly for a few hours, before the memories finally start to fade. By the time I sit down to write about them, it's all gone. I've hastily made a couple of notes, but they don't make any sense. It only adds to the short nights I'm already facing (a by-product of working night shifts is that daylight tends to wake you up earlier than you'd want), and maybe that's why I feel like I'm struggling right now, losing my grip on things.

I set out to write a nice little piece today, just to let you all know how I was doing, and I wanted to have a look forward to tomorrow's slate of fixtures in the World Cup, which will see the Belgian Red Devils return to the grand stage for the first time since 2002. I'm sure people are excited back at home, but I just don't feel like writing about it. In fact, I don't feel like writing at all. Perhaps that's a lie--I want to write, I want to share, but somehow the words won't come out. Which must come as quite the surprise to the people who know me well.

I'm sorry, I really am. You all took the time to click this link and see how I was doing, and as a reward, all you got was this. I wish I could promise you I'd get my thoughts in order and have another go at it soon, but with the World Cup schedule as it is, it's highly unlikely.

So here's a tiny hamster eating a tiny burrito (h/t to John Oliver): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JOCtdw9FG-s


Song of the Day: The Ink Spots - If I Didn't Care
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UC_VzbtRGr0