I did notice that I was better, so very better, the tablets made me sleep and in these reflections I noticed also that I could be interrupted in the shower without dragging my nails down my arms, and could be repeatedly disappointed without sickness or the desire to lawnmower faces. Instead I would be content with moving the small photo frame on my desk every few minutes to sit level with my chest, and colouring the gaps in the varnish on my nails with a magic marker pen, the label always turned towards me.
I barely notice the way in which my cup of tea has been placed leisurely upon the placemat, belligerently sitting slightly to the left, teetering upon the edge of complete destruction. I do not notice that the cup touches the table, great swathes of fake leather spreading in the opposite direction, calling desperately to be used, to be sat upon, to be warmed, to brace the porcelain cup in the natural way of the placemat. Nor do I notice that my computer screen does not face directly towards me, but instead smirks towards the wall. It finds solace in the papery glory of the poster which sits upon the wall’s face, advising that many microwave pizzas can be made from the energy wasted in leaving a microwave on, the things of obviousness, should I have noticed.
I also do not notice that I have not made a list in several months, nor that my file tray has been removed to fill the gaps where file trays may be more necessary. I do not notice that my papers do not sit together as friends, but rather several attempt to escape, likely to go to the fair, where candyfloss and hook-a-duck are more appealing than disorganised collections of desk material. Moreover I do not notice that my receipts are held together by a paperclip whose metallic curvature bends outside the generally accepted limits of paperclip behaviour; his was an obscure bend, and one that I did not notice.