Outside the closed windows, the skies cannot make up their minds. It pours with all its force one minute, then gives way to a burst of sun the next. What are you guys playing at? Downstairs, I make my way admist the hazy white curtains of cigarette smoke lazily parting to let me swim past. The party I couldn't take part in, nursing my sick self in bed while laughs and clanks of good pinot were happening below. Its traces shoot up my nose and dive down my lungs, white cold traces of the good vibes last night. Almost chokes me. 

Round and round. Whirl, whirl, whirl. White sheets make clockwise rumbling tumbles inside the washing machine. Sunlight makes a brief appearance again, and filters through the open windows. White curtains dance lightly as the chill waltz into the room, partnering with the white cigarette haze. Out the open French doors. I drink in the chill as the air clears. Nausea passes.

An espresso, too bitter and not enough. A chocolate cupcake with a heart perched on top of the icing. Too sweet. A flat white, too milky. My barista hasn't quite mastered it yet. It's okay, it's only his second try. Chats about changing work and chasing work. Travel plans and travel dreams. Time but no money; money but no time. C'est la vie. 

Dinnertime with housemate. Chicken breasts and quinoa and mushrooms and salad. I forgot I'd put a beer bottle in the freezer this afternoon and found it exploded. Drats. I get another from the fridge and open it weirdly and it explodes in the kitchen. Double drats. 

Are you happy with your life? B asks. 

I watched several movies this week. They made me gasp, tense up, sniffle with tears. I finished another book, went on another run, had another snippets of conversations with family and friends, all far, far away. I spent the whole week interviewing various people, asking myself how I would have answered my own questions. Wondering what more I can do at work, what skills I want to improve on, which tasks I don't like doing. Where I want to go from here. At least two people this week remarked how tired, aka terrible, I looked. I went on a 'crazy shopping spree', buying too expensive but pretty nothings, because I never do those things but I've always wanted to, from time to time. I bought myself another weekend away. A quick, worried glance into my bank account. Whew, it's still alright, for now. Where do I want to go from here? 

Are you happy? B asks. 

I would really like a good back massage. But yes, I'm quite happy with my life at the moment. I really am. 

Now, a hug, please.