Oh, look. It’s Sunday again. I’ve been up, to varying degrees, on and off since about 4am. I don’t know what woke me up. I think I heard a cat puking, but I’m not sure. There’s nothing in my room. If there’s a hidden pile of puke in the house, I’m not going to looking for it. Either way, I was awake, and I couldn’t get back to sleep. I was too hot. I had to pee. The fucking rooster is crowing. All of these problems are easily remedied, but in the pre-dawn brainfog, I’m slow to actually take action. How much more sleep could I have had if I’d just taken off my leggings earlier?
I’m going to drug myself like crazy tonight. Damn it, I WILL sleep.
All of the cats are in moods this morning. Chaucer is pacing around Brian, because Brian made a sandwich and shared neither ham nor Swiss. Knickknack was in my room before sunrise, licking Mal‘s food bowl clean, banging it against the wall. Mal refused to eat the wet/dry mix of food I made him for breakfast. I gave him a bowl of plain kibble and gave Knickknack the mix. She ate half of it, making noises like she was summoning demons.
We’re going to the Compound for dinner. Brian’s mom asked me to bring sweet potatoes again. Considering they don’t have an entire bag of marshmallows on top, the request is pretty impressive. I’m going out this morning to buy some stuff to make coquito.
That’s mostly an excuse to leave the house.
