…so, the anxiety dreams have started,
I dreamt that it was the day of the Symposium. When I got to the venue I found that instead of one room, the Tullie House venue was now a labyrinthine complex of rooms and galleries. All the poets were scattered about these rooms, and had to be found and ushered back together. And this proved hard, because I had lost the ability to speak. And there were Scottish school children everywhere being sung to (?) by their parents.
And then, when the first poet about to begin their Featured Writer slot, my day job rang me and told me that I was late to the interview I was supposed to be at. This then morphed into me needing to be present on the panel whilst another job was being interviewed for, except that I sat away from the main panel with my forehead against the wall eating blueberries (?). And then, when the interview was complete I went back to Tullie House to find that the event was already over. A bearded man I did not recognise told me that it was all done – it had finished early, but he couldn’t remember whether it had been a success or not.
And as I walked the empty rooms of this fictional version of the venue, I was presented with the bill for everyone’s food. I was really disappointed to have missed the whole thing and I was worried that people had not enjoyed it… and then I woke up. Here’s looking forward to the real one…