Sunday Afternoon 1:20pm

I say goodbye to my friends stood outside the door to the flat. Long corridors with surprisingly few doors. What used to be dumb waiters set into the walls. 'These used to be the sevants quarters'.
Outside there has been a deepening of the air again, and a darkening of the darkness; it is autumn. It is still not quite cool enough to be classed as truly autumnal though. However, there is that subterranean feel about the night, those unseen stars (I never think about the stars in summer) and somewhere, I swear, are the ghosts of rain.
I quickly fall into sleep when I get back home. I have a mild illness - not really a cold, a slight sore throat, a slight temperature, a slight nausea. I wake up shivering in the middle of the night, go to the toilet, then get back into bed. Pulling the covers over myself is heaven. I would not mind having a period of mild, unserious illness (a week with a common cold say). I may actually be able to relax for a little. I am constantly on edge these days, and think that any time I do relax, I should be doing something else (looking for a job, preparing my CV, doing something (that old line) with my artwork. With a cold though; the luxuries of Nurofen and DVDs during the day, slipping into afternoon sleep, and baths like heaven, and a trip to the local shopto get some coke becomes some great and glorious quest.
I got up at around midday.
Grey skies outside. Feels like autumn. The light that falls into the room is soft, almost crepuscilar, though to describe light as 'crepuscular' is, of course, an impossibility. Andy is out at work, and the flat is silent, and I am only slightly disturbed by the sound of a door opening and closing somewhere (perhaps the wind, perhaps next door).
I cannot imagine a voice, I cannot imagine speaking.
It is almost peaceful here.