My lungs are full of dust. Or at least that is what it feels like. Combined with a scratchy throat, polyphasic sleep patterns and a general disquiet in my psyche, the idea of the universe becoming unglued isn’t entirely unpleasant. You will have to pardon me, I may be writing this as an in-joke to myself.
Susan is on holiday, visiting her people in the land of LA. Considering that we still have a dozen boxes (half of which have been recently emptied onto various surfaces) in our bedroom that need to be unpacked, this is actually a blessing. I get to unpack in the manner in which I am most efficient (again, by unloading everything at once) without driving the co-habitant to crazy brain.
Who knew we would bring so much dust with us?
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