SELFIE WITH A TEAPOT
When I wake up now, I can’t decide whether I’ve slept a day, a week, or a month, and my sense of space is fluid – I’m neither inside nor out. Lying in bed all day, I stare up at the cracks in the ceiling and listen to the sound of the trees scraping against the window. All that matters is not giving up and looking at the walls. As soon as you look at the walls, that’s it, it’s over. I clearly understand what will happen if I look at the walls and I wake up every morning full of determination not to do this, come what may, but my eyes slide to them despite myself and start yet another journey from the door through the walls and the windows to the other side. The secret is in the wallpaper; every time my eyes end up looking at that snow-white wallpaper, they are fixated
