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[personal profile] desperance
K & I got up at 4.30 yesterday morning, to be sure of her plane and my train. I was knackered last night, but still stayed up till 11pm. And then went to bed, and slept, and woke - at 3.30am. And stayed resolutely awake thereafter. She's the one crossing the Atlantic, but I think I got her jetlag.

This morning I have committed bread and laundry (and left the dough on top of the washing-machine, to see if the agitation will waken drowsy yeasts), and then came into the Lit & Phil through storm and weather. No ice this morning, but a biting gale. And I opened the door to the Silence Room to be greeted by a howl of indoor wind; I think there must be a broken window behind the broken shutter. And there is a man at my table, huddled in his coat and hat, demanding a space heater and complaining bitterly. If he sat where I am forced to sit, he'd actually be warmer: but no. He's not even using the power socket. *complains bitterly to the internets*

I have a story to write, but in this draught? I might give up soon, and go home before my entire body seizes up on me.
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desperance

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