When I woke up everything was different. I was in the same house with the same bed, the same curtains hanging at the window and the same man snoring next to me.
I got up and peered out into the dawn light. I strained my eyes until I caught a glimpse of the same milkman bringing his breakfast necessities to the sleepy houses along this dreary street. The trees lining the avenue had shed their leaves leaving only their bare branches to reach twig fingers into the grey skies.
I opened the window just a crack. A blast of cold air hit my face making me catch my breath. I couldn’t work out why everything was different when everything was still the same.
I crept downstairs trying not to wake the sleeping walrus in the bedroom. I put the kettle on and stared down at my freezing toes. Later I dressed, tidied and left for work.
On the bus I watched as rain drops smeared tear tracks down grimy windows and old ladies sought shelter under plastic rain hoods. I glided my way through my day in semi consciousness. Walking home, the candyfloss clouds skimming the sky felt oppressive and heavy.
When I arrived I wondered if it would be worth the discussions that would follow to make an effort for dinner. Nice dress, make up candles, a takeaway maybe so that I wouldn’t have to cook. I looked at the photos on the mantelpiece. The dog. Cyprus from 1993, before he knew me. His table tennis trophies taking pride of place. I decided that no amount of dissecting could save us now. I changed into my tracksuit bottoms and warmest woolly cardigan and sat down in front of the television with a glass of wine and a salad straight from its’ Marks and Spencers packaging. The evening passed in a blur. I got into bed feeling like nothing was quite right and as I did so I realised that the only thing that was different was me.
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