Lost in a cloud of me.

I think I’ve lost myself.

Isolated in isolation. Floating somewhere in a sea of malfunctioning synapses.

There’s too much time to think.

Week nine.

I wrote a list of things to say but I lost the words. All my notes, just gone. Who knew one little app could be so important?

I don’t even know what day it is.

I’m an endless pile of questions and no answers. Is this the new normal? Do birds have taste buds? Why can’t anyone spell lose properly?

Normality is far from reach. A 3-person maximum. Takeaway only. Sanitizer. Take a basket. No touching.

A head full of nonsense. A cloud of me.

I’m in there, somewhere.

Moody. Sentimental. Predictably unpredictable. Spaghetti. Whiskey. Wine. Forever needing to cut my nails. Hairy. Always hungry. YouTube. Kindle. Vegan. A good cook. Unmotivated. Missing the mark. Depleted. Afternoon naps. Depop. Lost thoughts. Low expectations. Irritable. Occasional exercise. 2L of water per day. Coloured felt tip pens. A persistent cough. Not enough fruit. Addictive. Vitamin B12. Loved. Unloved. Friend. Wife. Weirdo. The Wire. Older but younger. Advisor. Impatient. Needy. VPN connection. Masterchef Australia. 20 tulips for €2.50. A new notepad. Mood boards and journaling. Killing time. High. Drifting. Avoiding trends. Fluff lip oil. Meditation. Bleach. Regrowth. Lazy. Catlike human. Hummus. Online shopping. Coffee with oat milk. Noodle soup. Quiet. Loud. Reminiscing. New deodorant. Screen time notifications. Endless dishes. Faded black. Socks and slippers. Missed deliveries. Orange juice with bits in it. Toast every day. Virtual aerobics. Facebook messenger. Fragments of smashed glass. Inside out. Up. Down. A closed door.

I just want to sit in the park, but no, you’ll have to leave please.