I just finished the call with my friend, with whom I am working on exploring her emotions and their effect on me. I am completely overwhelmed and struggling to control what I feel.

I start walking toward the bathroom. I stop. I look around. It’s time for lunch. I should go to the kitchen and prepare something to eat. In the last few days, when I’ve had lunch, I’ve started experiencing severe intestinal pain. I don’t think I could digest what I ate. I think I might not eat at all. I could avoid it. But I feel very weak. I need to try to eat something.

They say. They say that architects are original. I drive in the evening darkness. Orange lights illuminate the road. In the distance, the sky is still sunset. But the darkness is already immersing my car into the night. I drive and think back to architects. Original. I don't know if all of them are. Perhaps only some. Maybe just the one who designed the dentist's office. Rust-colored electric gate. A few steps illuminated by lowlights. The house is surrounded by wooden strips. Inside, small glass spaces. Some visible. Some hidden, polished. I walk.

Today I went to lunch with friends. I had calculated a series of problems I might encounter. I knew I had to hide behind an image of myself that they have. An image that doesn’t correspond to my present. Something I’m used to.

I had forgotten that during my last attempts to enjoy moments with a group of people, I had felt unwell. When I arrived, I started talking and playing with my friends' children as I would have normally done years ago.

I write immersed in the smell of urine. I often write in the bathroom. Hidden. Often at night. In the upstairs bathroom. The small one. The sound of the keys hitting the walls. Tum tum tum.

A few days ago, I saw a cashier. She had painted nails. The pinky was blue and the thumb was gold. The other nails faded and created something between blue and gold. I don’t know if they were designs. But the gold nail was very beautiful. Shiny. While I was throwing the roast and potatoes into the bag, I didn’t know if I should ask her to let me look better.

The hours in front of the monitor doing things that don't interest me. 

Tasks for companies I don't know. Applications that don't have great applications. Company ads I can't find. Job ads I respond to. Response messages that don't arrive. An empty email inbox. Hours spent in meetings where the future of a button is decided. A button that will be removed at the next meeting. A button that will be replaced by another button. A button that will be deleted through another button.