Out of Sorts

When you left, there were a thousand matters which I simply could not discuss because I was ill, confused, out of humour, full of doubts, sad and miserable. I do not regret who I am - how pointless that would be - but I wish to be considered by yourself without regard to my sex. I would like to be cross when I have a reason - not for the vapours or my monthly cloth or the state of my heart. The truth is, I am mad with rage! I cannot make this composition work, upside down or sideways. I will have to start again. Poof! N.

The Song Bird

Sometimes I have a dream without an image. There is only sound – a ravishing sound of a woman's voice, which I hear in that moment half way between sleeping and waking. It has –
1) the range of three octaves
2) always the same tune with the same embellishments and
3) the same degree of softness and loudness.
Can it be a dream if there is nothing to see? N.

An Admirer!

I have a certain friend, who is plagued by nits. He has shaved off his own hair and rubbed his head in lavender oil as a precaution. He has called for the nit-picker to clean his wig, where I am told the nits have lodged in his curls. He has taken to wearing a silver, filigree basket containing lard, which he hangs around his neck. This is his decoy for the hungry monster and this is my admirer. I must buy myself a fine bone comb. N.