It's a shock. I have awoken this morning locked inside the beginning of a new chapter. Lets call it Chapter 7.

At the moment it feels like a chapter from a life story not quite my own.

"Lets face it," comments the Narrator. "Chapter 6 has gone on rather a long time. All that blogging! Anxiety out of control. And the flash-backs..! Frankly I've got bored."

"But Chapter 7 feels very strange. Busy. So little introspection. I mean, it doesn't feel as if follows on..." Then I have an idea. "Is this more my Platonic, ideal life.?"

My Narrator laughs in a loud, unsympathetic way, upsetting. "Plato, schmlato! The hills are crawling with caves full of impossible ideals. One day they will collapse from all the pretentiousness."

"I thought you were an intellectual!"

"No, that was your father, buddy. Chapter 7 isn't even parallel with chapter 6. Get on with it. You don't need me to start living."

He's a weird guy.