So I fell asleep with my headphones on, watching Alien Covenant on the laptop, and woke several times to find acid slathered fangs gnashing at my face. At half four, Dean Martin upstairs started warbling so I gave up and got up. It’s far too early and there’s far too much of a day ahead to feel comfortable. I’m like one of Temple Grandin’s happily squashed cows – I feel more secure the more tightly I’m yoked, the more narrow the focus, the closer the walls and the fewer the choices. There’s a lot of wide open space to make it across before the soothing funnelling of evening leads me back into darkening hallways and ever smaller doorways, back towards sleep and absolution. Now I’m sitting down before a basin full of gruel it’s going to take the best part of the day to chow through. Too much poison to gag down, too many turns in spiralling hallways to bump into death, the wearying drag of the digital moons that pour a borrowed, ersatz light like bleach over the shadows, stirring tides of dopamine and cortisol, an endless chemical tombola with every winning ticket a pack of fucking shortbread.