Last night, my sleep was unsettled, and I’ve had another tiring day. I go to bed early. Following my request, Dad has removed all my toys and posters to the garage. The room is very stark; it feels cold and clinical. Although it’s what I asked for, I’m now doubting the wisdom of removing everything at once. Perhaps I should have retained some pictures, or even my favourite childhood teddy. Too late now. I suppose I’ll get used to it or, even better, regain the strength and confidence to be independent again and have my own flat.
I drift in and out of sleep, my dreams sharing the same doubts and hopes as my earlier distractions.
I awaken at seven o’clock, hearing Dad’s alarm go off next door. I turn over, trying to steal another hour of sleep but to no avail. Being a big man, Dad isn’t to
