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.

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.

I have been "about to start therapy" for four years. I am very good at the first email. It is the second one I never send.