I like to stare at the blinds until faces start appearing in the fabric. Smiles, noses, eyes-
they all jump out and morph into one. When they start mouthing things to me, that’s when I tend to look away. Sometimes, I look for faces in the shadows of objects lying around the house.
There’s a particularly amusing silhouette of what could well be queen Victoria that
pokes out behind the curtain ruffles. I go
looking for her sometimes on purpose, because I know she’ll be there and it’s
something to be certain of.

If I could inject a feeling into my body every day, it would be that of certainty.
I fear I am an addict to the art of prediction and delusion,
so much so that I have developed an intolerance to uncertainty.
My therapist would like that I’m using that,
that’s one of her favourite lines.
I live my whole life in a recurring conspiracy. I firmly believe things are going to happen and am genuinely shocked when
they inevitably don’t.

But there is something so tantalising about allowing myself to drink up an illusion of certainty.
I like the control and
I love the power it convinces me of.