I wake up feeling wrong. Something’s gone wrong but I can’t put my finger on it. What did I do wrong yesterday? What will I do wrong today? Nothing! Everything! I’m tired. I lie in for half an hour, an hour, then decide to take it out on myself. I could have been wearing suits by now, I tell myself with drooping eyelids. A clean suit every day except Sundays. I could have had savings, a mortgage, a family that I could do things with on Sundays. Up at 6 to bed at 10. If this goes on I’ll become a drain on society. It’ll be down the hospital on the number 13 every Wednesday, walking sticks and drooling in the pub. No, of course it won’t, I tell myself, I have work to do, and rush out of bed.


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