This constant state of exhaustion

The pizza company is sneering at me. They recognise my number and call me by my first name. Small pizza, they assume. Medium, I correct, overeating just to appear with company. I hear my phone ring in my head every half minute. I check and recheck and still no one is calling me, no messages. I get up the next day, the sky grey, casting no light through the darkened curtains. In the silence of a still room I listen as pasta bubbles in a pan, then, suddenly too tired to eat anymore, I pour the water away and leave fresh pasta sticking to a non-stick pan. I go back to my bed fully clothed, and on that empty bed sleep empty sleep. Twelve million people in this city and not one to talk to.