I'm living in a house surrounded by sandstone walls. They are colored orange - perhaps we are in a Mediterranean country. There are other houses, all cramped close together like a mediaeval village. Outside washing hangs on lines in small yards. The next-door neighbours' teenaged daughter and her friends giggle and spy on me. I'm writing lists of things to do endlessly on bits of color-coded paper. It's never-ending. I notice on the sandstone walls just outside the window, the teenagers have written graffiti about me, but I don't have time to read it - I'm too busy writing lists.