09
I lay in bed, my partner sleeping peacefully besides me. She’s never had any problems getting to sleep. I envy that easiness, that matter-of-factness about her going to bed. She feels no dread. She knows bed means sleep. It’s not something I’ve enjoyed my adult life – but especially now. The tiredness is there. The tiredness is excruciating, weighted in every muscle, heavy in my eyes, and clogged in my head. The tiredness should bully me into sleep. But whatever that last checkpoint is, I never make it. This is sixteen years ago. I’ve ditched Aropax – too abruptly, I learn retrospectively; and following bad medical advice from a psychiatrist…
08
I wake and see through my bedroom doorway that the kitchen light is on. The kitchen light shouldn’t be on. Like most people, I have a nightly routine. The kitchen light’s the last thing I switch off before going to bed. Now I wonder if I’ve forgotten to turn it off, or if there’s somebody in my little flat. Which is the likelier possibility? I might’ve forgotten to switch off the kitchen light. It’s possible, because everything is possible. But it’s unlikely. I’ve never forgotten it before. Also, I would not only have to forget to switch it off, but then jump into bed, switch off the bedroom lamp, and…