Here I am, on the 20th of September, it's my birthday. I'm on my way to work even though I can barely stand up without wanting to, needing to, sit down. A couple of hours later I leave work again. Head to the doctor, find out that I have shingles. It all makes sense, the big itchy, painful patch area on my back. The dizziness. The rundown, drained feeling. The doctor hands me a note that says I'm off work for more than a week. Stress. What will I miss? What will people think of me? Will I even be able to relax? Will I get fired when I come back? And then, Andrew's gone for work. Long days at home by myself, evenings by myself. The internet stops working. I spend the days reading, dreaming, listening to swedish music, talking to friends + family. We go up to Sligo for a night, for my birthday. More on that later. More on a lot of things later. Internet's back, Andrew's gone again, the September sun is shining outside.