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[personal profile] desperance
Cats are weird. In this weird weather, it's grown so warm so early that we have already skinned the duvet and are sleeping under its skin; so now is the time that Barry decides our bed is the only place to be, all day and all night too. Now it's no longer warm and snugglesome beneath him. O-kay.

People? Also weird. If you had tried to tell my younger nocturnal self - the one I still cradle somewhere within, the one who could sleep till noon then work till 3am and go out looking for company to watch the sun come up, the one I just really really miss - that my older self would rise at seven in order to drink coffee in a cafe with friends before work, he would just have stared. It wouldn't even have been laughable; it wouldn't have been possible. But I have done that; and I have emptied and filled the dishwasher, and taken out and fetched back the bins, and made bread-dough, and fed the cats and scooped the litter, and taken in a parcel for m'wife, and it isn't even nine o'clock yet, oy.
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desperance

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