Today is a clean slate.

The till in a corner shop gets counted back to the same float every morning. Whatever yesterday's takings were, the drawer starts at forty pounds in coins, and the place is trading again by six.

Not everything resets. The debt is still the debt, and the difficult customer will probably come back in on Thursday. What resets is smaller and more useful: the running total in your head.

Yesterday's mood keeps arriving as though it were information about today. Mostly it isn't. It is residue — poor sleep, a conversation that went badly at four in the afternoon.

You don't have to feel new to start from the float. You only have to stop counting forward from a number that belongs to a day that is over.