In the snow, all of London looks the same

and it's confusing because I was just getting to know the different nooks and crannies of the city. It's confusing because it doesn't really snow here, it's not really meant to, and now for the first time since I left Chicago I am worried about slipping on ice. But then I am always worried about slipping on metaphorical ice.

Everyone's bins out on the street look the same with an icing of snow. I imagine perhaps yesterday it would have slid off when they lifted the top, but overnight it froze to the thick plastic.

My farts are the warmest thing about me. I can't smell them through my face mask. I can smell my client's wet incontinence pad, the marmalade she likes in her Weetabix, but I cannot smell myself. I am not here.

Maybe, I think as my boots disturb the serene snowdrifts, we are all illusions. This line of thought is not original. Maybe everyone else is real and I am the illusion. They seem to think I'm real, but not the version of me that I am.

The snow falls. People come and drive over it, melting it. It freezes. I slip and fall on my bottom.

haha! I'm in pain! The muscles and fat of my butt have bruised/are bruising and I'm not sure why but my urethra is aching too. My thighs ache from propelling my body relentlessly forward. I fall down, get up, sob for a few seconds, and keep moving. What else am I meant to do?

I have discovered today that shock is the biggest motivator for my tears. This is why I cry when people are nice to me. It's unexpected. I don't know how to react to it, so I cry. This is really the only time I can reliably release my emotions through tears, which isn't great.

In the snow, all of London looks the same, and I am finally small.