Waking to a self portrait

And then at last I had to get out of bed.

I'd heard the little German kids through the walls, polishing their shoes for school, and the mother screaming at them.

If I were to write a sentence about what I just heard it would just be another sentence, of which I might ask, who's having that sentence?

Nobody really cares what I really care about.

I open my eyes. The small white pill I put on the bedside table is still there. I didn't take it, I only put it there for reassurance.

Nobody really cares about what I really care about.

First thought, best thought. Maybe, not necessarily, often and sometimes.