rope

 It is not yet midday.

Upon awakening, and going downstairs to the bathroom, then again on coming back upstairs, consider whether it is worthwhile starting the day.

Feed the early-risen cat.

The watch shows that it is a quarter past six, this is confirmed by the nearby mobile 'phone. 

Return to bed and return to Hypnos. Wierd dreams, the substance of which has gone, all that is left is that it had to do with death. After this, decide that it really is time to get up. Dark thoughts of suicide using ropes and things are dispelled as being stupid, and not in any way constructive. It would be a good idea to contact the help line before it is too late.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, empty the dishwasher and make the breakfast. There is coffee in abundance, and make two poached eggs on two slices of buttered toast. The butter dish is nearly empty. After having buttered the toast wash out the empty butter dish with hot water, dry it using a tea towel and put a fresh pat of butter from the refrigerator into the glass receptacle. Take the plate with the coffee and eggs upstairs.

Breakfast is pleasant, sitting at the open balcony window with the chains and ropes hanging over the void. They are there to facilitate the plants in their climbing.

The first shoots are now visible above the balcony, having climbed all the way up from the courtyard, two flloors below.

In half an hours time it will be time to pay a weekly visit to the local arty crafty round table meeting. A load of fuddy duddy people looking for their right wing politics and their creativity to be praised.