I thought this was going to be a day like any other. Really did. Started out normally enough: got up, went to start the coffee, then to the bathroom (of course) for a shower. I should have noticed that something was wrong. Things weren’t where they usually are. Not exactly.

I did sense things were kind of crooked, but then, in the morning, before my various rituals, things are somewhat foggy. Thank God for caffeine and showers. Not in that order. I always get the feeling that if I’m too awake when I take a shower here, the closeness of the walls will freak me out.

I’m claustrophobic that way; nothing big, I just don’t like certain forms of enclosure. That’s why I tend to automatically imagine myself out by the ocean, the spray of the waves cleansing me.

Anyway, so I’m in my shower, waking up, ever so slowly, in that sort of haze where you find (or at least think) yourself more creative. I’m thinking, “You know what would be nice? A book to help parents explain what their job is to their kids” (my friend’s son said, based on what he had observed, that what his dad does is make paper to draw on – that’s working for the government for you). In this morning mist, I wasn’t really paying attention to my surroundings.

But when I got out, dripping wet, that’s when things started to feel funny. The first thing I noticed was the towel. It wasn’t that it didn’t hand on the same hook as usual; or that it was a fluffier fabric than I’m used to; or even that it was white instead of burgundy or green, my favourite towel colours. No, it was that I hadn’t really noticed any of this before.

That’s when it hit me.

To be continued (here).