I’m awake in the middle of the night.
Someone in my building is having a party. The music is loud and obnoxious.
I was dreaming about a presentation I have to give at work on Monday. Not some crazy dreamworld presentation where you imagine you are presenting in your PJs to the cast of Friends about some random topic like the use of broccoli as a pizza topping. No, no. Just plain boring real-world stuff. About branding. Even at the weekend, my brain fills itself with work.
Because what else is there?
Going into hospital for a day next week to get my cervix checked out following a weird smear test?
Which yoga class to go to tomorrow?
How I’m ever going to clear enough stuff from my flat to get a new carpet fitted?
Why a certain friend ignores me these days?
Or the thought that reverberates. And only intensifies after a look on Tinder or eHarmony.
I am never going to meet somebody.
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