Snorkel and goggles in the bathtub.

Anything I let leave my hands crab-crawls sideways into an oblivious hole of mess. The shower head, when I turn the temperature right down, falls from where it hangs. I have several shower head shaped bruises. The bathroom lights take seven pulls of the light string before they flicker on, and the ancient green kitchen cabinets have finally given up the ghost.

I went to see The Diving Bell and the Butterfly. In the seat next to me sat a young man, by himself. No detail other than young and man. Cinema-going etiquette says thou shalt not observe the lonesome cinema-goer if thou art with a group of others. I felt his presence stiffen as the frequency of nose-blowing and tissue-crumpling became increasingly frequent. I cried silently so as not to alarm him further. The combination of silent teary hiccupping and the stiffening of a stranger I could not draw a picture of in my mind was very tiring. On the way back, Mami was talking about splaying cats. It was a conversation I could not muster up the emotional energy to partake in. Instead I watched the Potteries kilns flash past loomingly.

Judith came home with me for lunch, and swept away the debris of last night’s dishes. Please help, came the urgent message as the lights dimmed. What is it called when the lines of direction change in film? I write her mini-essays in SMS format, and she calls me her angel. Or maybe angle, she texts, maybe both. A cute angle.

The Girl With The Priestly Admirer clutches her chest. I can’t do it, she whispers, I can’t not breathe for three whole months. IwillfailIwillfailIwillfail. I have never known anyone to be so entirely committed to the cause of convincing the world they will fail.

Film theatre season ticket. Railcard. Money. These are things I have let leave my hands and have, as a result, disappeared indefinitely.