Mother of mercy, I am beat. Up ‘til half-past-ungodly knocking off this bastard bastard article, and no letup in sight. Just in from the gym and scarfing cold oatmeal at my desk; I’ve eaten so little, and drunk so much coffee, that my stomach feels like a rotted tooth.
Another day running on four hours of sleep. It would’ve been five, but D awoke when I finally slipped into bed, and, well, y’know. So no regrets, really.
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