I woke up this morning and couldnâ€™t believe this is life. That this is the life I have to live. I canâ€™t believe it although itâ€™s there as real as it could be.
I think about the possibility of being somewhere else. In a different body. Different place. Maybe a little house near the sea. Maybe with someone I care about. But this is just a thought for a Sunday morning. I am aware that it could never happen and I honestly don’t want any of that. It’s just something to cover up the reality.
Actually it would be enough if I could just take a shower, but thereâ€™s no hot water. I pull my body out of the bed, wash my face and take a look in the mirror, saying to myself â€žThis canâ€™t be me.â€ Itâ€™s never me. Itâ€™s never anything.
Iâ€™m feeling sick and kind of weak, so I make some coffee. Itâ€™s pitch black and the darkness worries me for a second â€“ unbelievably ridiculous reason to be worried. Darkness freaks me out this autumn and Iâ€™m angry at myself for this, because last year I finally had got rid of the fear of it.
Mother says something to me, but I donâ€™t hear it. She was drinking last night. Of course she was. She always is.
It’s life. No way out. And tomorrow is a Monday morning.