I find the cat on the bed in the mornings. She's curled up with her paws covering her face, and it's apparent that she always knew that the day would fail before we did. And here is what I mean by failing: The sun is refusing to shine, and still, the rain is refusing to fall, and for some reason, I cry when I stand on the scales and see that the number has finally dropped. I could tell you that this isn't about control, but I know that you wouldn't believe me because in every medical leaflet you've ever vaguely stumbled through, if you can recall, that's what they'll tell you. I know that there will be somebody who understands this, but the problem is, I'm tired of hide and seek. And here is how I fix things: I go out and I buy myself a watch so that for once I might be able to tell the time, and while I'm at it, I buy myself a bicycle because the car is not enough anymore. I will do things by myself. I will be enough.