I drew some cats, I ate some fruit salad

When I was cleaning the kitchen earlier I found a tiny green thing. I asked him if he thought we could be friends, but he just flew away.

I went home to my parents’ house while they went to my grandmother (the one who lives far away). I was meant to come with them, but then I got ill and figured I’d much rather have a whole house to myself (well almost). I need this space and this silence, I need this lack of presence around me. Not necessarily to do anything important, just to have it as my own. This is who I really am.

My throat hurts and I can’t talk. I tried to shout goodbye to my parents but it came out as some sort of squeak. All I can manage is whispers and some rather feeble coughing. I’m communicating with my grandmother (the one who lives in this house) through post-its, I play Bethoven and Neil Young on the piano, and I write.

Every now and then I have to stop what I’m doing and run outside to chase an ochre-coloured flock of hens away from my mother’s flowers. It’s charming, in a way.