How to describe it? It happened to me, but not me. I was him, but not him. Haven’t you, Morgan, ever been through a day when you were not yourself? When it was not you who experienced your events but some other you? This day was like that for me. So how to describe it and make you believe how it was, how it seemed? How to show you me-him this day? Begin at the beginning. As I-I. As eye. Slept solidly. A cuckoo woke me. Unexpectedly refreshed. Fit. Healthy. Happy, I suppose. (How do you ever know? What’s the proof?) Optimistic, certainly; full of energy. And hungry. Yet, as I say, not quite myself. Somehow other. A bright day. Crystal light glaze-blinking the tingle-crisp river, where I plunged myself, in-out, quickish. Naked. Like the day. Skin-sizzling afterwards. Yesterday seemed a shaggy dog story. Had it been? Why bother to wonder? Why consider? Consideration is for recollection in Wandsworth. (The day’s first terrible witticism. Apologies. The crazed light made my brain flippant.) Packed pack.
