Dreaming of dialogue I run to write it down, swirling into a tub of emptiness I forget in the morning, now recalling the homework I've given myself of for some reason documenting dialogue for some future play or book or something. Pregnancy getting heavier by the day and the thought of going to the hospital is a strong drink of something that is sure to make me sick. My back aches and so on, so it's hard to focus on the little life inside when, well, I won't give my self time to look. To busy to change history. The little life is being moulded by my thoughts and services, it's the least I can do for futures sake to relax today and talk with her.