This morning I was lying in my bed playing the daily roulette of “is it depression, or are you just really tired, ILB?”. Fun game. You should try it. It involves lots of monologuing to an audience that doesn’t exist and singing along to an instrument you can no longer play.

And I felt a hook somewhere behind my navel and I was pulled backwards and

I ricocheted back through time like I was on a minecart that just wouldn’t stop

and

i'm in the seamstress' bedroom and her mother has just brought me a cup of tea. i'm reading the sex blogs and there have been some rumblings about some sort of sex blogger and erotic writer convention. i smile slightly but this is never going to work. we'd all have to wear masks. it's something i've had dreams about but it's never going to happen

and I laughed, because I’d just realised where this was going. Maybe not with the Seamstress – I still need to work through that one. But I knew where it would end, right? Maybe this isn’t all hopeless bullshit and

i'm sitting at a table with people i've known for years and never met before. the atmosphere is palpable

and

i'm hugging a girl who doesn't want a hug. i feel terrible. i should have asked

No, wait, I don’t want to see that one. Show me something else. Hook. Pull. Tumbling forward and forward in time. This time I have no idea where I’m going to

tim booth leaves a cowbell on the floor and 47 picks it up i'm crying down the 'phone to h because i've just broken up with katherine my cousin gets married and i dance with her pretty friend i lose my job and i go home and i scream as the world comes down around me and i'm riding on a dragon above southend and

Focus…

and

i'm thinking about how i can introduce girl on the net without saying her name. she'd get mobbed if i did. i tentatively suggest that i can point out people to her. a who is who, and then she can introduce herself. or not. but it gives her the choice. i'm standing in the doorway surreptitiously pointing people out. that's blacksilk and lady pandorah. that's jilly boyd over there. that's steph alys. there's molly moore, and her dom, signs

and that’s good. That’s a good thing. I can stay here, it’s nice.

Hook. Pull.

This time I close my eyes because I don’t want to see where I’m going to land. It takes a while for the colours and shapes to fit into place.

it's been cancelled. it's what i need and it's been cancelled. i'm having one of the worst times of my life and i've upset everybody and i needed this. it's been cancelled. i'm going to need therapy because of this

back to

that was my idea. she's running the session and it was my idea. i'm not involved or credited or even acknowledged, but it was my idea. i feel so betrayed. i won't say anything because i know somebody's going to realise and say something

and forward again to

why isn't she talking to me? is it because i haven't got a beard?

and

maybe you're just not as talented as you think you are?

and

why can't i help? i want to help. i'm willing to help. let me h

...

i'm lying on the floor and i can't get up. i'm waiting for someone to come and get me up off the floor. my whole body is screaming in pain

Scream.

That’s what I need to do. Open my mouth and centre myself. Inhale, fill my lungs, and let it all out with one huge, piercing primal scream. I try.

I can’t do it. I can’t scream. It’s not coming. I’m… I’m…

i miss everyone and i miss everything and i'm so fucking lonely

…scared. I’m too scared.

I have no voice.

I need to scream…

you're a long way from home, blogger boy.