Tuesday 1 November 1994

Turned and tossed last night. Woke at midnight with a wandering, witchy feel, wanting a broomstick between my legs. Went outside and smelt the sky. It was sweet, inviting. Next door the dog moaned. A funny sound, like howling through honey. I wandered round in my dressing gown for half an hour then went inside and read at random till I fell asleep on the couch.

Roused a few hours later by a sore neck, I felt like I could transform into anything. Very dissociated. I tried not to see the things that were crowding my mind. Crawled into a cold bed and rubbed against that imaginary broomstick till I slept.

Felt shitty in the morning. It took three bowls of porridge to settle my nerves. Day dreaming and not caring about being late for work I remembered what Hilary had told me yesterday about the Aztec calendar.