I didn’t do a grocery order. I watched a Netflix story—totally forgettable. I’ve done it now, the grocery order, a day late. It doesn’t matter. I don’t feel like eating these days. I make dinner for Matt when he comes and I welcome him and the opportunity to cook for him, and maybe to eat something.

My whole routine has fallen apart. I’m not sick but I don’t feel well. Every day I hope tomorrow will be better. I’m still watering the plants, so I must believe in something.

Maybe today will be better—not the day but me.

I’m getting worse.