I have a red notebook, small, softbound, pages with round edges, that I write in whenever I find myself unable to penetrate the sudden fog of numbness that surround me at times. I have been writing in it. Purposeless, solitary words. Doodles. Scratched out names. The idea of a short story. Lists. Snatches of half-forgotten lyrics. Just to avoid dead ends. Just to board a proverbial train and leave. ‘Never look back’, I wrote and wrote. Misplaced priorities. Misplaced love. Misplaced trust. Misplaced dreams. Just the thought of putting everything in its right and deserving place in my life is exhausting. But pulsating with the hope that it is never too late.