Week 45, 2026: The hug

On the second day of November, and the first day of the week, I was filled with hope and vigour that I haven’t felt since October 16th. I’d felt very little in the lead up to this flat viewing. It was a flat-share, one I’d scheduled back when I hadn’t yet considered the alternative: tiny unfurnished studios far outside of my budget. In this big bohemian house live a soft-spoken landlady and a psychotherapist. They wear shoes inside the house and share fridge shelves like a family. There’s a swing in the middle of the living room. My eyes drift to the mount in the ceiling. Is it decorative or could it actually handle the weight of my body? Is it meant to be an art piece, much like the paintings scattered around the room? I wonder but don't ask. It feels impolite to acknowledge the swing as a first-time visitor. Seems like the kind of thing you have to build up to. The walls of my prospective bedroom are painted dark green and I would get my own deck. My mother asks for the catch,…

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