2022-07-12 ● Like a newborn

Since the start of the pandemic I started keeping a diary: what times I’ve been waking up or going to bed, what I’ve been eating — how much of and when, how many minutes I spend in the shower, what medications and supplements I’ve taken (they're a lot); mundane things that don’t mean anything to anyone, maybe not even to myself, although I suppose it is useful to know how much water I’ve been drinking or if I’m getting enough Vitamin D — I heard Vitamin D helps during the winters to boost your mood, but it’s not even winter, and I still dread waking up every day, past noon, but getting up anyway to drink a terrible cup of instant coffee, and scavenging for some stale bread from the back of my freezer (it had been there for ages); when the world started to open up again, I wondered if my solitary planet would burst out of its bubble, and suddenly thrust me back out, like a newborn upside down, covered in blood, my umbilical cord about to be cut, crying for my mother or crying because I’m alive and I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.