Last night I was living minute by minute. Now I am living hour by hour, and sometimes by the half hour. It’s not fab, but it’s ok.
I’m not at home tonight. I am house, dog and cat sitting for a friend while K is with himself. After initially struggling to get out my front door and thinking I would struggle to stay at my friend’s, I have now been here for five hours straight. This is my first night away from home for six years so it was bound to feel a bit odd.
I’m marking the hours, with a vague plan for each block of time. The cat is asleep in the kitchen, the dog is asleep on the floor next to the sofa and I am under a duvet on the sofa.
It’s 1am and I’m doing ok. The next hour will involve tea, reading and telling the dog to settle down. She’s probably confused by my presence on the sofa, and she’s protective of me so barks at the slightest noise.
Mix together my current anxiety levels, a night away from home and lack of food, and sleep probably won’t be happening. But I’m not going to worry about that.
Hour by hour. Time passes.