Somebody (several somebodies?) observed that the month of March lasted over 300 days. The month of April has run about 14.5 hours so far. I don't know which is harder to live through, a month that never ends, or time that flows seamlessly in and out of existence. This fleeting time makes it more of a challenge to latch onto a solid topic to write about each night. Did I do stuff in the last 24 hours? Yes, lots. Can I make any of it sound good? Meh. (Shrug)
I was hiding in my room this afternoon, just waiting for the day to roll by. The Mr was outside, spending his afternoon in the hot tub, which he does sometimes during quarantine. I heard a sound I could not identify clearly, but my brain decided to interpret it as the sliding glass door rolling over something rough in its track. It wasn't an exact match, but it sort of worked. I stood up, and walked into the other room. The door was still open. There was water on the floor. A voice called out from the patio saying that I probably wanted to grab a towel and dry off the boys... both of them. I can't imagine what happened to knock two cats into a hot tub at the same time, but I feel cheated that I didn't get to witness the flailing and the escape. They were not impressed by my attempts to chase them down and rub a towel over them.
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