On my first night in our tiny house on wheels, I had a nightmare.
Like a lot of my weirdest dreams, it was set in a rundown house we lived in about a decade ago (though the house in the dreams never looks much like the actual house). In the dream, a woman had broken into the house and surprised Tom and me. Then other intruders emerged from cupboards and wardrobes and began saying mean things. I quarrelled with these people and grew angry.
Then I woke up in pain. The nightmare had made me lash out with my foot, and stub my toe on the ceiling.
(Actually the second toe. Tip: never Google images for “stubbed toe”. You will faint.
How often do you get to say that? Well, if you regularly stub your toe on the ceiling I don’t want to know the details, the point I’m making is that living in the tiny space of the Mustard Yellow House is testing my body in unusual ways. As it was bound to do — yet not as much as I feared.