Finding a rhythm of my own.

First full service. Table six sent a plate back and for half a second I thought I had somehow caused an allergy nobody had mentioned. It was the wrong side dish.

Amir moved it, said "new plate", and kept going. I wanted the pause button. There isn't one.

By close I could hear the printer in my head after it stopped. Sienna put rice and an egg in a bowl for me and pointed at a chair. I said I'd eat at home. She pointed again.

Ate everything. Hadn't realised how hungry I was until I started. On the tram I found a pea in the fold of my cuff. Bringing work home already.

11:43. Breakfast.

Not calling it brunch because that makes it sound like I chose a lifestyle rather than fell asleep with one sock on.

Two kilometres, not five. Fine.

Dog carrying a branch as wide as the path. Owner negotiating with it like an exhausted diplomat. Walked behind them longer than necessary.

Sauce too salty. Not "seasoned boldly", which is the phrase my brain tried first.

Amir asked when I'd last tasted it. At the beginning. Before reducing it. He waited while I arrived at the obvious part myself.

Started again. Was annoyed with him for making me say it and annoyed with myself for needing to. Tomorrow: tasting spoon where I can see it.

Across different schedules

Sent Jules a voice note from the tram. Deleted the first version because I sounded like I was applying to be his friend again. Second version: a story about the pea, then how is the new flat?

He replied the next afternoon while I was washing up. The flat has a damp patch shaped like a country and his housemate has put a frame around it.

I keep waiting for both of us to be free at once. Maybe we could just leave messages around for each other. Like a very slow conversation in a hallway.

Lunch with Mia. She chose a place where the menu was basically sandwiches, then asked me not to describe the bread.

Apparently every meal with me has recently become an assessment. She said this kindly. Well, she said, "Can you be my brother for an hour instead of a food programme?" which is her version of kindly.

We talked about her driving lessons. She is convinced the instructor hates her. I am convinced she would be impossible to instruct. Did not say this. Personal growth.

Good shift. Not amazing. Nothing to apologise for, nothing worth telling a dramatic story about.

Prep done. Service done. Floor very wet. Home.

Cold enough this morning that the first breath hurt my teeth. Walked before work anyway.

Passed a house with the kitchen light on and someone making toast. Wanted to be that person until I remembered I had toast and a light at home. Think what I wanted was their timetable.

Forgot Jules's birthday.

Not entirely forgot. Remembered at work, thought "after service", then remembered again at 00:38. Sent a message with far too many sentences explaining the gap between those two times. Deleted most of them before sending.

He said breakfast next week. Need to actually arrange it.

Made noodles just for me. Ate them from the pan, so the training is clearly paying off.

Haven't written since the birthday. I did mean to. Then I started treating this like messages: if you leave it too long, you need a reason for reappearing.

Reason: noodles good. Also the extractor fan has started making a noise like a scooter and I want evidence that I noticed before it falls down.

Asked why the prep list was in that order.

I'd been doing it top to bottom, assuming the sequence was part of the knowledge everyone else had. Turns out half of it was copied from an old list and the order meant nothing. Except the stock. The stock actually does need to start first.

Sienna laughed, then admitted she'd spent her first month labelling one shelf "misc" because that was what the previous person had written. We have been preserving a system neither of us understands.

Made a new list with times beside the things that need time. This felt more like learning than being told to be faster.

Breakfast with Jules finally happened. His early shift ended just before my day started, which made the whole thing feel like meeting at a border crossing.

He'd brought a book he wanted me to read. I had brought nothing except an apology I'd polished on the tram. He listened and then said he'd been cross about the birthday, but more cross about the way every invitation becomes "I'll let you know."

I was ready to explain the rota. He knows about the rota. His shifts change too.

We compared calendars over eggs. There wasn't a magic empty evening hiding in either one. There was a Monday afternoon, three weeks away. We picked it. I nearly said "unless work—" and stopped.

I don't want to become someone who only sees friends when work has no possible use for him. Also I don't want to pretend I can refuse every shift. Rent is due whether I am having a balanced life or not.

The useful part was smaller: if I can't make a plan, suggest another one in the same message. Don't make the other person keep reopening the conversation.

He made me take the book. It's long. Said there was no test. I said good because I was already behind.

We used to see each other because we lived three doors apart. You could knock without deciding how much an afternoon mattered. Now I look at a message saying "free Monday?" and imagine travel time, laundry, shopping, whether I'll have anything interesting to say. None of that was required when I could hear his terrible music through the wall.

He told me the new flat was lonelier than he'd expected. The damp-patch joke had been the whole report until then. I nearly responded with practical ideas about meeting people, which would have been a neat way to avoid hearing that my friend was lonely while I was explaining how busy I was.

Asked which bit of the day was worst. He said arriving home before the others. An empty flat is nice when you've asked for it. Less nice when it's what you get by default.

I didn't promise to call every day. I'd be good at that for three days and then ashamed for a week. Said I'd send a message on my way in tomorrow. Something small enough to actually do. He said to send a photo of whatever ridiculous thing we'd labelled misc.

Bought a second coffee and stayed ten minutes past the sensible leaving time. Arrived at work on time, just.

Long loop by the river. Ran past the turning I usually take, then regretted it into the wind.

Walked the last part. Listened to Jules's latest message twice because the first time I was concentrating on breathing. His housemate has changed the frame around the damp patch. Seasonal decor.

Cancelled tonight. Too tired to be good company and, more honestly, too tired to try.

Sent an alternative date in the same message. Jules replied with a thumbs-up. The world did not require a paragraph.

Bakery opening when I went out for wrappers. Bought something warm and ate it before it had a chance to become lunch.

Sharpened the knife at home. Mia asked if this was necessary for cabbage. Probably not as necessary as I made it sound.

Ate before people arrived so I wouldn't become the angry host guarding the pan. Excellent decision. Hardly heroic, but excellent.

Sent Mia the recipe. Her reply: already changed it.

Jules put on the clean-down song. For a second I started looking for the mop.

Dumplings at mine. I said we'd make a lot and freeze some. We made a lot and ate all of them, including the ones that opened in the water and became a sort of accidental soup.

Mia was better at folding than I was. She had watched one video. I tried explaining what the wrapper needed and she said, "No food programme." Fair enough, apparently this is a standing rule now.

Jules arrived with the long book under his arm to ask whether I'd started it. I have. Page thirty-two. He said the beginning was slow and then accidentally told me something I don't think happens until much later. We shouted at him until he stopped.

At work I like that there is a correct plate for a thing. Tonight we ran out of bowls and used a measuring jug. Nobody minded except me for approximately five seconds.

Mia took leftovers despite there being no leftovers. She wrapped three of the last dumplings while we were still eating. This is why she will survive anything.

Clean socks. Everyone gone. One dumpling wrapper found stuck to the underside of a chair. Leaving that mystery until morning.

Rota for next month on the fridge. Book beside the bed, page eighty-six. Running shoes dry for once.

This looks suspiciously like a list of things a person with a routine owns. I still ate cereal standing up at midnight yesterday. Don't want future me reading this and imagining I've sorted it.

Amir let me run my section without hovering on Saturday. Then corrected two things at the end, because apparently trust does not include an exemption from feedback.

Monday with Jules stayed in the calendar. We did almost nothing. I used to think plans had to justify the effort of arranging them. Turns out a fairly boring afternoon is harder to have with someone you never see. Glad we bothered.