Tomorrow

Tomorrow i shall most probably not sleep.i shall pootle around the house and aimlessly flick dust from surfaces.At about 11 i shall collect two children off a train.They belong to me i seem to recall.On returning to this awkward realm called suburbia the IMAC will be turned on and my words will appear-stretched across it's screen as a reminder.Littered at the base are the detrius of my life- knitting,a coke can,a picture of my children,headphones and a solitary chocolate,For laters