Coda

Shit. From next week on, I'll be working in the hospital. Every day, from 8 to 5.30.

No more stumbling in at 9. No more nipping out at 1 for a swim. No more DVDs. No more reaching home for a 4pm siesta, then going out to meet him at night.

I've been drifting through the past months in the vagueness of a trance, sometimes slowing down to suspended animation, sometimes seeing myself in a strange, murky light.

But my mind races on, ever faster, and these are my thoughts: it's over. I have a job. Time to get on. Time to sharpen my knives.