She walks out of the room, away from him and the trajectory of the shards of that revolving argument gathering up a plate of half eaten fruit and an inside out sweater as she goes. She enters the kitchen and casts her eyes around the room. She turns the sweater right side out and tosses the remains of the fruit into the compost. The copious piles of plates, crusts of bread and cold coffee ahead of her propel her forward. The sink itself is piled high with pots from the homemade pasta and porridge that had been planned hours in advance yesterday while she half listened to a webinar. The heat of the earlier argument dissolves in dishwater. It eases off in flakes as the clear water rinses away the sediment of earlier decisions. The next meal starts to be assembled in her mind's eye, oh yes, we have that salmon in the fridge. We should use that , it will taste good with the leftover bits from yesterday's vegetables- maybe with a sauce? no maybe not, it will just get wast