Waking up is hard.
My favourite part of the day is when I wake up at 6 am, and the sun is rising, and it's shining through the tiny gap I've left between the curtain and the windowsill.
Waking up again.
Walking into the living room.
Saying 'Play me something, something depressing and sad and sentimental so that I can walk out of this place and feel like I feel something.'
So she does.
One step at a time, hold on tight. The load is getting lighter with every step of the ladder. But there are things that I find hard to throw down, to precious and delicate to hit the ground. But I can feel the numbness spreading to my fingers.
I eat porridge. I film the sky. I sing Happiness hit her like a train on a track. Coming towards her, stuck still, no turning back. I dress in my nicest clothes.
I take an apple and put it in my bag.
I walk to work. I listen to Dog Days Are Over five times.
All is well.
fint.
