It’s 22:41.

Emma Ruth Rundle’s Engine or Hell Live at Roadburn playing quietly is mixing with the steady whistle of my tinnitus. I can also hear my keyboard as I type away and the quiet whirr of my computer under my desk. The rest of the house is completely quiet.

I can feel my neck muscles. I suspect my posture has been off today. I can feel my chair. I can feel my feet on the ground.

I can smell the flowers on my desk. Brought by Mandi earlier in the week. Grown in her garden. Jonquils. Lavender. Others that I can’t identify.

I can’t see anything outside of my window. It’s too dark. The solstice is a week or so away. I worry about how mild the autumn and winter has been so far.

It’s 22:48.