This evening I drive up to Peebles to stay overnight with my brother-in-law, so that my trip to Edinburgh to see The Specialist will be less tiring in the morning.
The last few days I’ve been getting increasingly irritated and annoyed about the fact that I know nothing’s going to come of it, the whole trip will be a waste of time and I’ll come away no further forward nor with any idea how to move forward.
Of course it hasn’t happened yet, so I can’t actually know that it’s a waste of time.
Ultimately I have to conclude that this is my fear talking rather than any true sense of prophecy. If I did have any fortune telling abilities beyond random luck, I’d have capitalised on them years ago.
But that’s the problem with fears – they’re damned convincing.
I’ve begun to notice that my sleeping position at night is becoming increasingly foetal in nature. Gone are the days when I would sprawl out, taking up most of the bed.