Before I sit down to do writing I feel tired and bored and a bit lonely. I think ‘I did not plan my life to be like this’ and ‘I wish people got on my nerves less’ and ‘it is probably immoral to have the heating on but I am cold’ and ‘I should just check and see if anyone who I like has emailed me then I can email them back’ and ‘I forgot to post two parcels and now it is too late.’
Then I sit for 2-3 hours and do writing. I write about sitting on a train and wondering if I will recognise the person who I am waiting for. I write about hiding, just in case. I write about the train setting off with someone knocking on the window. I read the story about five times and decide I am pleased. I save it in two different places on my computer.
After I’ve finished writing I feel tired but mainly good and happy. I think at least I am not in my thirties. I am ready to eat a sandwich and read a book and maybe iron something respectable to wear for work tomorrow. The prospect of Monday is less distressing.