In my mind I've stood up, walked up the stairs and gone to brush my teeth in the bathroom.
In practise, I'm sat on my heels, kneeling over the sofa with my head in my hands, staring at the weave of the grey fabric. The ability to stand up has escaped me, I can't work out how to make my body do what I want it to do. What I need it to do. The grey fabric is too fascinating.
My mind is racing with all the things that need doing and I'm chastising myself for not packing away the Christmas decorations on the side-unit behind me, for not putting the cushions straight, for not picking up that toy. And they all tail off into half-finished thoughts as the twill captures my attention again.
I hate this feeling. The whole day has been like this. One minute I'll be focused and know exactly what I need to do, and the next I'm drifting away into a well of… I'm not quite sure, to be honest. Greyness, nothingness?
Days like this are few and far between now. Generally I've never felt as good as I have since October. But just sometimes the mind wanders, and I need a guide rope to find my way back to the security of the every day.