Sweet dreams are made of cheese

My wife and I had a 90 minute massage today. I’d had a trying day where everything was twice as difficult as necessary, and she’s pregnant, so we needed some respite. I didn’t realise how potent an hour and a half’s massage, followed up by a pizza, could be.

I’m not so much relaxed now as narcoleptic. I made the mistake when we for home of trying to work. (Quite wisely, the wife went straight to bed.) I spent a pointless hour on the computer, being less productive than when I’m drunk, and when I realised this it quite spoiled the relaxed mood the massage had conferred on me.

And so to bed. I’d write more if my brain worked, but forcing myself to stay awake when I’ve spent good money on getting ready to sleep seems beyond perverse, and nothing of note happened to me today anyway, so today will be cut short…

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