Day 1012
Broken door, hand crank
The cat has been staring for a good hour, something he commences every day at 6:14 AM and works hard at, an inch or two from my face, until my eyes remain open and I get up to put some food in his bowl.
On this Sunday I need to unclench with some urgency. It’s not as bad as some days – when you wake up from fever dreams of speedboating across clear lakewaters with a terry towel in your mouth and a boiling vat of kerosene in your lap – no, it’s not as bad as it can be, but as I say there is some urgency. I groan and creak and it’s on with the clothes, the socks and shoes, down the steps and outside. Every day at this exact point there’s a debate: put coffee on the stove now before the electicity comes back on, or deal with the bodily functions and fuss over breakfast later. I make coffee.
There’s an entranceway. About four by two metres, just a sort of anteroom between the hallway and the outside world. On two closet doors are hung coats and hats and there are dozens of…