I started waking up two hours ago because I drank chamomile before bed. And beer. The cold room does not help my decision to get up and will be useless for the next half hour. The only thing that will lift me up is my need not to be fired, but the hands of need are firm and carry me to the bathroom almost like in a Metaxopoulos choreography where Voogyuklaki wakes up from a nightmare. I think about my dream, in which panic was mixed with excitement, and I don’t regret for a second that I watched all the horror movies in the world. I brush my teeth and cover my face as Conan O’Brien’s podcast plays in the background.

I came to the office where I work in Kolonaki and drink my usual Greek coffee. No, he’s good. It’s average because of the sugar. I sit next to Giannis, the graphic designer, and tell him in detail what to do while we engage in a war of the sexes. I’m clearly winning. After Tasso and I have ordered the fattest thing, we co-exist in a mess of capitalist uselessness. We all laugh together because we hear Terzis and almost answer the message from the boss: “Darling, everything is fine.” It’s time to put them on post-punk.

I am still working. It’s still good. Irene turns on the Cosmos radio, and Anna, as usual, laughs with restraint.

I leave work and go home as usual. I like to dedicate myself to walking, but now I will call Maria because in yesterday’s message I said Hoi An three times when I wanted to say Hanoi and definitely Vietnam needs better communication in order to survive. He also wants a few cans of Imodium for better and for worse, but probably for worse. We tell our news, romantic non-existent and real, working, existential. For the hundredth time I think how much I love her. She tells me about “Falaina” that we both worked on, I tell her about the cover I want to do of Mazonakis’ song. It doesn’t discourage me.

“My sister has influenced me and I put creams on my face. She says her skin “tightens” if she doesn’t wear it. I wasn’t “attracted” until I started betting.”

I just got back from Pilates and grabbed a profiterole on the way. I struggle with the minimal guilt that I have learned to default to not being mine. Fast enough to rewind my thoughts on my low cholesterol and the thought that my grandma ate 80 chocolates a day and died after 90. I enter my home studio and grab a profiterole and Mazonakis. I have a synthesizer waved at him and I wonder if he likes it. I think of an anonymous user who commented to me on YouTube that if I want to conquer the local market, I have to sing in Greek, otherwise it will suck. He will finally be vindicated. I have been making music for fourteen years and never thought about it. I needed so much a man who would open my eyes and tell me how to express myself and what I want.

I walk out of my home studio and stumble across an old TV that my sister put in the room when she came in to make room in the living room. I turn on the heater next to the couch and try to decide whether to watch You on Netflix or a good movie on Cinobo. I decided to watch “Cecil B. Mad” by John Waters because I feel that there will be something from Todd Solonds in it. Right now I don’t know if I’ll be smiling all the time, but I know this is the 1023rd movie in my inbox.

My sister has influenced me and I put creams on my face. She says her skin “pulls” her if she doesn’t. I wasn’t “attracted” until I started betting. I do my Wordle in English and Greek and the NYTimes spelling bee which stops me at about 8 words each time. I have to pay to keep working, but I’d rather feel like I’m doing well and not know how lousy I’ll be later. Let me close, my Virgin Mary, the seven hour period.

Xanthi’s new album “Problems” was released by Musayeta Entertainment.