something, sometimes

Before I get to the bottom of the cup I fill it again. Each time noticing the heat from the new tea. Six cups later and I've yet to move. There is something relaxing and numbing about drinking leaf over bag.

The day, is full of pointless tasks, like hovering, tidying and cooking. I find the time, in between living and being alive to pop into town with a friend of mine. She asks me compose a reading list for her, which I happily oblige, and so we spend much of our time in Waterstones. (I find it hard to shop for books anywhere else? Book snobbery?)

We spend the good part of an hour, if not more, waiting for a bus. I don't mind this, but it clearly makes A uncomfortable. I remind her that its nice to do nothing, especially as we have Hitler breathing down our necks all the time.

I do a weekly shop, and buy Nytol. Where I ask the pharmacist for a bigger box. She looks at me sternly, and tells me that perhaps I need to see a doctor if its that bad, or perhaps I need something stronger. I ask if she stocks Valium. She's clearly not impressed.

The rest of the weekend is spent in bed, sadly with no one (although if anyone besides me where in it I'd probably tell them to fuck off),drinking Ceylon and reading. I think this: I haven't left the room for a good 72 hours and I've never been more content.

...here you go create another fable...