5 AM. All the same. The same dog, the same wind, the same rain and still the same, old me. The same run first to the bus than to the train but today at least no bins to forget. Same questions but new books. One thermos flask of chamomile tea. Live life to its fullest or so. A pear and a handful of grapes. More books. New doubts, old fears. The world all the same: Grey and cold. The feeling of drowning downwards like water in the bathtub. Spiraling slowly.Battering rain. In the news: Gangland criminals are shooting each other. Another downward spiral: the funeral of the man has been declared a high risk zone. Wherever one looks: new battlefields. Seminar preparation. Again astonished by Henry VIII’s language: the bluntness, the greed and the distinct knowledge: I will have it my way. It is all there. I am still unhinged. Lunch with B.: Vegetable ragout. Sometimes salt helps but not always. Definitely it doesn’t today.I listen to B. and I try really hard to keep on listening, but thirty seconds later I remember nothing more than him talking about a B’n’ B owner in Bantry, called Tosca. He chuckles. I try to remember how to smile. Two glasses of water. Half a Cadbury bar. “Call me back” writes my sister. Three exclamation marks!!! I call her back: “Why are you calling me?” More texts. Copying. Printing. The same questions. Half an avocado and the last piece of cheese in the dark kitchen. Eating in front of the fridge I assume, expels me forever form all the oh-look-how-great-my-food-looks- communities. I can’t help it and I still have to walk the dog. The old fears, the new doubts. On Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. No music in the moment. No music at all. The questions, the doubts and fears are loud enough.