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Dream. Bloody dream.

And then I woke up and it had all been a dream.  Spherical world indeed! It was a bright, fine early example of a Tuesday.  I peeked out through the curtains and there was the sky of the morning, hanging draped over its four posts as usual; the frayed corners flapping in the breeze and the middle bit sagging like a big, blue, planar banana.  Leaping from the bed with enthusiasm and rolling down the stairs, my dream came back hard- so vivid. So much so that I fair nearly ate some cornflakes.  We talked about it and the matter was dropped.

I evaporated away to work on the oh-eight-thirty wind.  It was crammed and there was the normal jostling and violence, but it got me there- and not on time either.  The winter sun shone dimly beneath me as I danced up and down the stairs of the vast main-site building until I reached the door, closed it and went through.

The lady sitting at the desk smiled at me so I smiled back and said a cheersoaked "Hello" at her. "They're just dumb animals, Henry" Said George rather condescendingly, coming out of nowhere en-route to his office. Of course.  Damn that dream!  But they can look so cute sometimes.  George paused at his office door and asked: "Can I see you in my office a moment?" Without answering I sullenly wandered across the lavish lemon's wool carpet of the reception ring road.

George's office was a sewage treatment farm in Bridport and he offered me a cup of the local produce to which I demurred.  George was in no mood with whom to be trifled and he came to the point directly and with immediacy. "It just isn't good enough, Henry!" he blasted "I want to see you working for better pay and under better conditions." His words stung me with a dreadful resonance.  This was the third time this month that I had been threatened with a pay rise.  I accepted with grim optimism but added the ultimatum that this would be the last time.

Opening the small revolving door by rotating it, I left George's office and grabbed a tin of turquoise paint from store, signing each copy of the forms in triplicate from a safe but exciting distance.  With the paint in my hand but concurrently in the tin, I strode purposefully down the slick-strewn shingly shore and walked on out to sea.  As the bitterly cold water lapped around my thighs, I crouched, leaned forward, closed half my eyes, dived and swam for it.  I swam and swam through the calmly lashing sea and after that I swam.  I swam some more until I reached the edge of the world and there I dangled hanging onto the tapering edge of a wave of water, with the handle of the tin in my mouth and my other hand opening the tin whilst holding the brush. The lid bounced off with a sudden boost of force and went flipping off into the void of space.

It didn't rain; it didn't throw down damned dark miserable dreary rain- the weather of my dreams.  And people weren't all either suspicious or on the make.  And there was space.

Still clutching my chosen edge of the water I set about the mundane daily grind of painting more sea into existence in my capacity as earth extender grade II.  I painted and painted, concentrating enormously and trying to keep within the lines as they buffeted and crackled.  I was reminded of the mythical Forth bridge from my dream; how odd that was.  Pleased with my handiwork, I poked my head in and gazed further into my emerging ocean.  I saw the turquoise stretching on ad infinitem and the pink coral on the seabed and the pink bit of water from that day I had my hangover and picked up the wrong pot by mistake.  I forgot my brain that day or it was eaten by wolves, or something.

At thirteen hundred, I sat on a passing fish while my lunch ate me.  Then I rested my tin on the tide and carried on painting.  Feet dangling into the void and the sea and the sea birds skating on the ocean floor, the rocking of the waves lulled me into a daydream.  I don't know why, but at that point I let go.  Plummeting into the void alarmingly I read that days paper.

And then I woke up and it had all been a dream.  It was Tuesday.  I rubbed my eyes red and screamed the wildest of profanities at the quiet, suburban morning air.