it’s times like these that you realize how important the days you thought were ordinary are actually.

A Wednesday in a year you would struggle to date. Work, a shop, somebody else in the house watching something you weren't following. Nothing happened. It's the exact texture people ask for afterwards.

The ordinary can't be appreciated from inside, because it has no edges. It only becomes visible against its own absence, which is a cruel design and not one anybody chose.

There's no fixing that entirely. But somewhere in this week is an hour that will look like that Wednesday later on, and it is happening now.