I’m not going to write about rights and wrongs tonight. I’m not going to think about an unwinnable war in a desert. I’m not going to worry about the work that hasn’t been done, about the silly comment I made earlier, or that lately it seems cancer is everywhere.
I’m not going to stay up all night reading newspapers online, or get infuriated that no-one seems to check the provenance of news these days. I’m not going to harangue myself because I didn’t make it to yoga or because I did drink that gin and tonic when it’s meant to be cocktail free Wednesday.
I’m not going to worry if my mom and dad will be happy in Cape Town. Or whether this post is perfect, or tell myself that I’m looking old.
Instead I am going to draw a hot bath and scent it with Haushka’s Moroccan Rose Oil. I am going to make a cup of coffee and drink it on my bed while I read the Vogue. I’m going to dunk a piece of chocolate in my coffee and go to sleep without brushing my teeth. I am going to let Jack under the duvet and smile as he whimpers and whispers in his doggie dreams. I am going to tell myself that tomorrow is going to be a lovely day and I am going to believe it.
Because I can. Because my life has the right balance of light and shade. Because I don’t suffer from depression. Because I don’t believe that suicide is a sin. Because the sweetest post is true: Genie, you’re free.