Uncle. You win, gravity. All the little twinges that teased me throughout the week have grouped together, and given me a beat down. I am one with the couch. Like any adult, I find myself regressing to childhood when I feel achy and feverish, and all I want is someone to fetch and carry for me, fluff my pillows, and place their cool hands on my face. Since I live alone, I got none of that. Instead, at one point this afternoon, I had five cats sitting on top of me, from head to toe, while I stared at the rain visible over the back of the couch, as I lay there giving off heat. My best consolation was that the little red-headed dog took pity on me and kept his trips outside to a minimum. I managed to feed myself today, and did it well, but everyone present heard me whine about doing it. I keep hearing crashes around the house (mostly inside, but I think I keep hearing sycamore pods hit the roof, too), and I can't find the energy to care to investigate. I couldn't even bother to be upset when Athena knocked my empty tea mug to the floor, shattering it. I just gathered up the pieces and concluded there was one less thing to store, and later pack and carry out of here someday. I'm not even sure I'm going to drag my achy self upstairs to sleep tonight. The couch seems like a safe bet right about now.
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