Nobody knows I can’t read anything longer than a page anymore. I am 34 and I keep losing track. I pretend I am tired.

I keep the news off because I cannot do anything about it and it still ruins the day. Then I feel guilty for keeping it off.

I got promoted and cried in the car park, because it means another year in the same building with the same window.

My mother thinks I am doing fine. I let her think that. It takes twenty minutes a week and it is the kindest lie I tell.