No barking last night. No scratching. No whining.
Silence. Real silence. And sleep. Real sleep.
Woke up confused. Blurry-eyed.
Is the dog next door dead?
The kitchen was brighter. I felt sharper. Danced on the tiles while the kettle boiled. Twirling in my socks.
Nearly went down, caught myself on the fridge. Laughing like a man who’s future doesn’t contain a dog.
Do people feel like this all the time?
Started a jogging plan. Downloaded an app. It said, “Start Small.”
So I ran to the postbox. Posted a letter that’s been on the counter for months. It was smiling at me. I swear it.
Must be nearly a mile, there and back. The wind tasted like raspberries.
Looks like the neighbour is away.
Had a shower. Played some Led Zeppelin. Loud.
The flat was a mess. Gave it a proper clean. Bleached the kitchen sink. Vacuumed with purpose. Shook out old towels. Wiped the skirting boards.
Lit a candle. A candle.
A fucking candle!
Went to work. Walked briskly, taking in the world. Do birds always sing, or is it just for me?
No time for coffee. Had stuff to do.
Finished the project review by noon. Typed so fast the keyboard screamed. I fired it off to the Boss with a note:
“Hope this meets expectations. Let me know if you need changes.”
He replied immediately: “Perfect. Thanks.”
Perfect!
—
At lunch, my Greggs sandwich floated beside me. I’m not joking. I think it hummed.
Or I did?
Spent all afternoon clearing my inbox. 1,023 emails. Replied to all of them. This might be the best day I’ve had in years.
Writing this in bed. It’s only eight. Still no dog. I’m going to get twelve hours in.
next: 22. Shirt, Clean, Perturbing
previous: 20. No One Clapped