Night Light

I’ve been thinking a lot about fragmentation. Or, rather, I’ve been thinking in fragments, in a necessarily fragmented way. This is how it is, at the moment. The day is divided into parcels of time which don’t map neatly onto clock-time, onto the division into hours, but a slipped chronology – forty-minute stretches of sleep or waking, breastfeeding or tidying, working or writing, eating or failing to remember to do so.