8.00am. Ignore alarm, sleep in an extra two hours.
10.15am. Wonder whether to make my bed or have breakfast first while staring at the wall a while.
10.30am. Make my bed and debate which trackies and tshirt to wear to breakfast. Pretty sure it’s just me and the cat in the house. Decide on high school trackies and Marvel tshirt.
10.50am. Bitterly chomp bowl of bran flakes while glaring at election commentary on Facebook, making mental list of people to unfriend. I never get around to acting on this.
11.35am. Figure I should go vote.
11.40am. Figure I can’t wear trackies and a Marvel shirt out of the house, even if just round the corner. Spend further half hour deciding which skirt to wear. The Marvel shirt stays.
12.10pm. Shuffle round to polling station, avoiding all eye contact with other humans therein.
12.20pm. Decide to walk the long way home, getting some fresh air before getting down to work on the play.
1.35pm. End up taking the really long way into Oxted, stop for a coffee before the opticians opens.
2.10pm. Have severe anxiety attack over price of contact lenses. Curse self for ordering a three month supply.
2.15pm. Decide to take alternative long route home. Feel good about this decision.
2.55pm. Realise I’ve taken a wrong turn. Regret earlier decision.
3.00pm-3.35pm. A series of further bad decisions and wrong turns before deciding I’m as safe in the woods as on rural, pathless roads.
3.45pm. Realise every damn tree looks the same.
3.50pm. Stumble across two older ladies who seem to know where they’re going. They do not. We laugh hysterically, compare dot locations on our phone maps, and I tag along with them looking for a road I recognise.
4.05pm. On reaching road I jump on their offer of a lift to the station.
4.15pm. Arrive home. Collapse with cereal in front of tv.
4.35pm. Glance at printed pages of script, pen in hand.
5.30pm. Write day’s lack of achievements in list form.