Fiction always helps. I need it now more than ever. Most people I know make small of it but we create fictions of our own lives to make it more digestible. Storytelling is a huge part of everyday conversation. 

The water cooler is humming beside me. Gurlging a slow watery song. Crying and peeing. The excitement of the day has abated. Daadi is snoring too. Papa, the lion, has retreated to his cave and my mother's slippers will softly slap the floor only one or two times more now. Last checks of the day. "Is the main door shut?" "Do you want anything?" I am sitting on my chair with my laptop looking very busy shaking my head to her. Time for my own self. Time to make sense of the day. Time to think for myself. It is as though I cannot hear my own voice in the day, when I am trying to accomodating voices of those around me. Trying to reason them. Make them sensible to me. But now is the time to listen to my own voice, however small.

"I feel this with you. I feel that for you."
"You feel what you feel and I understand. But I am not part of this, whatever it is that you are feeling."
"Who else but you are responsible for making me feel the way I feel!"
"No Babe. You merely use me as a prop to feel what you are feeling."