Sensations of touch dissolving from recall, while its importance sears under the skin. It’s been longer than a month in many ways. A glaze of numbness gently washes over me. What once noticed out the side of my eye, is placed squarely—the sameness of my days, as if my life is being churned out by a noisy, decades-old photocopier—𝙵𝙰𝚆𝙰𝙼𝙿! I write minor edits to the sheet. And I file it under ‘existing’. Living, no, this is a dream I float through, blinking through the hours, aware I’m making lunch again, or popping in for the daily run—didn’t I just do this, what day is it? Right. It’s just today.