Victories

So you got up and fed the cat. That’s something. You hauled one leg, then the other, out of your pyjama bottoms, and you fought doggedly across the rugged terrain of the landing. You wielded your toothbrush like a club. You stood under the shower’s strafe for as long as it took to deter the enemies under your skin, if just for a while. You got yourself dressed: trousers, T-shirt, socks – the kit. You sat for a bit then went to the shops for milk and fruit, whatever your tired gut could take. You wrote. That’s something. Even read a bit too. You talked with your wife – only half hearing through the hounding static, but you talked nonetheless. You watched some show about the Vikings. That’s something. That’s something. And when the day was done you dropped heavily into bed, your mind bulging with a thousand tiny battles, a thousand mini victories.