Am I unusual?

Is anyone, actually, 'usual'?

I’m sitting at my desk trying to write a piece that explains why I want to be visible but also invisible and how I like structure but can’t always have it, at the moment, and my thoughts become too thick to separate, so I decide to leave the house.

I borrow my mum’s wicker shopping trolley. The same shopping trolley that she would use when I was a teenager and I’d refuse to walk with her, because I was so embarrassed. Now, I understand why it’s better to pull your shopping than carry it.

On the way back, I wonder if the reason my mind feels like a lump of clay is because I’m hungry. I haven’t eaten much today. I had to go for a blood test after the school drop-off and it threw my routine out, so although I don’t feel hungry, perhaps I am.

I go to my favourite coffee shop for a sandwich and notice a couple sat close together, their foreheads nearly touching across the small table. The fizzing chemistry is almost visible. I park my shopping trolley next to them and the woman glances over.