7am. I burnt my coffee pot while I was off in dreamland thinking about a day off. The pungent smell of rubber in the air, as the seal in the coffee pot melted, bought me back to reality.
11am. The truth of the morning was that I was stonkered. Dragging my feet. I’m not sure I’m going to make it, I thought, as I dragged my sorry arse up Young Street. I felt like I was walking a bit sideways, my centre of gravity was a little... er... um, compromised. The walk to work only just cut it. I just start walking and I forgot. That rhythm was good to get the blood pumping, brain cells sparking, lung tissue filtering. Water. Kidneys. Park. Feeling fine. Shop fronts. People. The lift.
Intermittently, during the morning, I had slight head-spin moments, a stumble. A couple of times. Three at the most. I had to check and check and check everything again and again and again. Triple check for autopilot days, to be sure. Avoid the phone. Answer everybody by email, even phone messages. I can get away with it for one day, better than stumbling over my words and feeling found out.
The paranoia only lasts till midday.
A big lunch and every cell was pumping.
The clouds behind my eyes, cleared.
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