this regret machine

  So, it comes to you on a Wednesday morning. This is while you’re still dreaming your last dream, before the Sun’s up. Your body isn’t yet your own. You can’t remember the last time you’ve eaten. All the same, you’re feeding a cat who’s sicker than she knows. You don’t know if she’s been fed before, but all you want is another hour of sleep. You don’t particularly want to return to the dream, but in that small and darkening garden, you know your role. The cat asks if you could sit with her while she eats. She lets you brush and scratch and bother her. In return, she makes you promise to kill the thing that plagues her. You don’t want to get sick yourself but you pet and comb and bother until she says she’s had enough. She asks how long she’ll be living here for, and you don’t have an answer. You add a little water to her food, and position yourself at an angle against the cupboards. There’s the smell of a cold gravy of fresh meat. In the corner of your eye, you can see the corpse ...

    To be honest, it wouldn’t be August if it didn’t come with a grand and seismic change. I won’t lie to you, but I’ve tried something like this before. In 2024, right at the end of the summer, after we moved here but before anything had been confirmed with my contracts. I applied for a job at a hotel in a part of the city that was too far away for me to easily get to. I was interviewed by an Italian mother of three who lived even further away. She offered me the job on the spot, and I said yes after a day. I was just out of a relationship. I didn’t tell anyone. It was a professional affair, but one that was made by the mismatch in sexual rhythm. I still wanted to be seen as an academic, and this was something I wasn’t really ready to let go. There was a great deal of personal weight and meaning put in terms like ‘lecturer’. I had a place in the world and also I didn’t fuck with the Holiday Inn Uniform. It wrapped weirdly around my legs. I couldn’t walk how I wanted to. I was...