Reality. It’s what’s for breakfast. After some feeble attempts trying to write a few paragraphs the past few weeks, it was back to the drawing board each time. Not good enough. Already done this. Needs more research. Too tired. Not fit enough. You know moments like these, you sit down, determination almost physically squeezing ink out of your pen. Cup of coffee at the ready, you start and a few minutes later you have to hold on, waiting for energy to kick your bum to open up your half-closed eyes. Reality. Seamus Heaney once said “writing is a snapshot of consciousness”. I was lucky being semi-conscious this week. I could hardly make sense of myself during those few moments I tried to put pen to paper.