the bill

i get up for the third or fourth time and some part of me recognises i can't afford to hit snooze again.

i look at my phone. it feels like a cup of sugar on an empty stomach, but the light keeps me from falling back asleep. i turn the brightness all the way up. i open the friends/naked pictures/jokes/horrors app. there's news:

the bill.

i put in my headphones and play some music with screaming in it. not screaming as in screamo–screaming as in "some guy is screaming outside my house".

i drag myself to the kitchen. while the jug boils i eat a couple spoonfuls of yoghurt and think about what to make for breakfast; an evaluation of my willingness to prepare anything says nothing. i resolve to get something on the way to work.

i make my coffee: one spoon of sugar, one scoop of creatine, half a teaspoon each of decaf and regular instant coffee. for about a month there i was able to say "i don't even have caffeine" when boasting about my sobriety.

i message today's client "ETA 1hr" at the time i told them yesterday i intended to arrive.

i drink my coffee while my flatmates get ready to leave. one of them remarks upon my visible look of confusion. i'm too confused to explain why i'm not confused.

they leave. i take my morning meds. i shower. i get dressed, with more difficulty than i thought i would have at my age.

it's been an hour since my 1 hour ETA. i text the client again. "ETA 30 minutes". christ this is embarrassing. i cannot keep doing this.

i sit down to put my shoes on, but my phone is easier to reach than my shoes, so i pick it up instead. everybody's talking about the bill.

maybe that psychiatrist was right. i'm not depressed; i'm just having a reasonable reaction to the state of things.

instead of thinking that thought, i post it.

i almost keep scrolling but the idea of needing to send a third ETA makes me put my phone away.

i put on my shoes, get up from the chair with both hands, and leave.

on my bike. out the gate. down the street.

dodge cars. get honked at. blow them a kiss.

supermarket. peanuts. energy drink. "no caffeine" dead and buried.

back on my bike. uneventful ride to work. nobody tries to kill me this time.

i arrive ten minutes past my latest ETA. i sit down for a minute or twenty to have my energy drink. the peanuts stay in my bag. i remember reading somewhere that energy drinks make your meds less effective, so i take extra. that's probably fine. i look at my phone. topic of conversation: the bill.

my timer goes off at the halfway mark and i give myself 15 to look at my phone. everybody's still talking about the bill.

finish work. ride home. slow right down approaching every red light in the hopes it goes green before i have to stop.

i make it home. i sit on my bed for an hour looking at my phone. i join everyone in talking about the bill. eventually i realise i've been hungry for hours.

in the kitchen my flatmates are cooking dinner. i squeeze between them to put something in the oven. we don't talk about the bill. they drop some personal lore, and i share an anecdote they've already heard.

i eat, slowly. i keep picking up my phone to read what people are saying about the bill. not obsessively, but reflexively. like i don't even realise i'm doing it.

i dump my dishes with the ones i meant to do this morning and go back to my room.

i play a video game. i read what everyone is saying about the bill. i think some unkind things. i only post some of them.

i share a link to my surgery fundraiser. i try not to think about how everyone is broke or about how there are people who need money more than i do. i think maybe it's uncouth to leverage a hate bill to ask people for money, but then i remember that i'm a target of the hate.

i write. i edit. i write some more. i read what i've written and realise i don't know how to end it.