---

Month one. There is a door that is mine and locks from the inside and a kitchen with two working hobs and a window that faces east. In the morning the light comes in at an angle that hits the wall opposite and stays there for about forty minutes. I've been watching it every day since I moved in.

This is mine. Not in the way rooms at the mansion were mine — assigned, monitored, adjusted. Mine because I chose it. I paid for it with money I earned in a depot and before that a warehouse and before that three weeks of farm work in August. The floor is a bit uneven and the upstairs neighbour has a very precise 11pm routine involving what sounds like furniture rearrangement, but it's mine.

I caught myself humming while I was making tea this morning. I didn't know I was doing it until I stopped. Small thing. Writing it down anyway.

---