‘Our failures help us to know who we are,’ said a voice from the radio yesterday. I think it was from a TED talk but I’m not sure. Do they? I am running down. I am losing pip, pep, zip. In other words I am flattened, sans motivation. I think I’m ill. I can still function but something isn’t quite right. I have no appetite, my poo is green and I ache all over. An infection possibly, exacerbated or intensified by the fast I’ve been trying to do. Day three was calamitous. I couldn’t eat it, the rice that is. It made me want to retch. So I didn’t and ate three rice cakes instead. I’ve given up on it. I’ve failed, and I even took some gastrocote to try and alleviate the acidity in my stomach. And this morning I weakened further by taking two paracetamols. Why don’t I get you some oranges? he said. OK, I said, grateful to not look at rice again at least for the moment. What was that all about? Why was my taste begin affected? And why does the simplifying of diet, which is what this kind of fasting is, bring on such a healing crisis? I don’t understand. I try to. It’s my body after all and I think I know it. He thinks I don’t and I stumble over my explanations, feeling stupid. I dreamt and dreamt last night, waking in between. Dreams of work and people not keeping their distance. Dreams of her and Brian Aldridge from The Archers, for some reason. She had two sons in my dream, who were both running around. And something to do with her hair, and long strings of cotton wool, the kind they use when hair is being bleached which I then had in mine. She looked well, strong, beautiful. I am so proud of her. I hope she is OK, it can’t be easy. So it was just herb tea for breakfast. It felt nice not to do battle with food and so far I am not hungry at all. I baked yesterday, desperate to fulfill my list of things to do that day. The mix was too heavy again. I had to make it up as I went along not having the specified ingredients. They’re a bit like rock cakes, he said, tasting one gingerly. But they are meant to scones. But they taste nice, really nice, he said. Is he being kind? I feel like Ria Parkinson. Failure again. Just keep trying. Some days are like that. And that has to be OK. Doesn’t it? I wanted to be emptied out. And I am being. Totally. Be careful what you ask for. Will clarity come soon? Will it?