I feel like a basketball. All I’ve done is walk around a bit and think about stories. It’s these damned antibiotics. Better than dying of blood poisoning, but wearing. Weary. That’s how I’m feeling. Ground out.
Believe it or not I’m running a bath. All the environment stuff I go on about and that has been a nightly occurrence for a long time. I cooked Amatriciana and Frank and I ate it just now and it’s as if someone pumped suet at high speed into my navel.
The dentist this morning sucked his teeth and told me I’d have to sell the farm. I’ve kicked it all down the road too far. Time to bite the bullet. I had to bite the X-ray things again today and I was almost sick on the dentist. “Whoever took out your back teeth has got a lot to answer for,” and that was my mum trying to stop me from having snaggle teeth from overcrowding as a child. She succeeded but now I haven’t got enough teeth.
Still, nothing that everything I earn for the next six months can’t solve.
Boy is being very persistent because he wants me to play ribbon with him. He’s been sleeping in my bed all day while I’ve been yomping and having my face poked. Still, I’ve got ten minutes in me I guess.
Hopefully his sojourn here will be over soon and he can be restored to his home, but it has been a delight to have this pudding underfoot. I’ve never known a cat less inclined to get out of the way, and his kamikaze tendencies extend to sleeping by my feet every night. He is definitely influencing my dreams though. Things have been very catty the last few sleeps.
AlBarclay 