20 May 2013


When I woke up on Saturday, again, silence. I slept through the azan and when the alarm went off, the house was empty and cavernous. I went to work, paid road tax, shopped, came home, took a nap, and left for the city, talking to no one on the way. I picked up the house, cleaned the floors and put up the toys thinking, This will not come off the shelf for a month.

I had envisioned this time away from the family to be different — more depressive or more liberating or something — than it has been. I sleep well in the house alone: I had worried I would have trouble sleeping. I've been cooking simply, vegetables and meat: the sorts of things I want to eat. I wash my things and put them away. Turn lights on and off. Sleep and wake up. An empty Rothko room — colours on colours, a frame.

Nothing more to say for now.