I do wonder where I went sometimes. I drive around in my car and ponder on time. It is poignant when I drive around places I haven’t been since I was 17 with long hair, and it is at these times that I feel the constraints of ‘real life’. I saw a tiny rainbow when I was driving home last night along the seafront. I’m glad I did because I wanted to climb out of myself and then I thought, no, the world is still beautiful (enough).

I have office-induced narcolepsy. I get enough sleep but I am still severely tired every single day at work and drift off with my eyes open at times. I feel bad because it affects my productivity and I don’t particularly dislike the job, I just can’t seem to get up the energy to do it properly. Not that sitting on my arse in a swivel chair and walking to the photocopier requires much energy, but I don’t even have the little that that warrants it seems. It’s bad. I make lists of what I will do that night. Today’s: wash hair, walk dog, blog. But I don’t have anything to say.

I miss London. I don’t really know why. I miss having long hair. I don’t really have time to miss these things but the tiredness makes me I think. It’s a sort of wishful regression that makes me think of those things. Knowing that certain lives I’ve lived will always stay where they were left, and that’s fine. The kind of tiredness I have feels like early dawn after a heavy night, and you’re still awake, but all the time. It is that colour. A drowning sort of colour but I’m not, just adjusting. I should write more I think. It helps.