It's strangely quiet in the house. In the living room I can hear the wind wooshing around in the courtyard, playing with the rubber plants downstairs. In the bedroom I can hear the cars on the street outside wooshing, no, wishing they wooshed, drivers beeping at each other during their weekly journey to get as far as possible from the city, into the suburbs and beyond.

It's one of those days; it's raining, there's nothing on tv and my teeth hurt. Nothing seems to taste as it should. There's tons of things to do but I don't feel like doing any of them, it all feels so futile. So I just sit here and listen to the wooshing. Of the wind. Of the cars.

I wish I had a cat.