Today I’m feeling sorry for myself. Its my second day in bed with a cold, except now I’ve a cough as well. The view gets me down. Clean and dirty clothes litter my studio flat. An overflowing box of tissues sits next to me on the bed. The radio on continuously. A candle lit on the table flickers, next to a dirty plate, my tablets and the post. The kitchen hasn’t been cleaned. Crockery waiting to be put away, and pans to be washed up. That spill I didn’t wipe up taunts me. The bathroom hides the overflowing laundry basket. My poor flat, I have let you down, let you deteriorate, so instead of being my sanctuary, you upset me and show me my failings. 

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