Last night, worried I would oversleep and miss my call, I got about four hours sleep, eventually woken by La Serpiente coming down to see me. The call itself was fairly pointless, with stuttering audio making it hard to understand people, and the whole thing could have been accomplished over email. So that wasn’t a great start to the day, and then it was gloomy and dingy all day, the coffee not really helping.
I chugged on, at least managing to do lots of pull ups today, but otherwise failing to achieve much. My wife sent me out for a walk in the evening, recognising that being cooped up was no good for my spirit. I came back to find Destroyer weeping like she’d had her head shut in a door, although her twenty minutes of crying was because she only got thirty minutes of television. Come on kids, a bit of perspective, perhaps?
We watched a bit of TV: two episodes of the reliably violent Wayne, and then had nothing to do for the rest of the evening. Perhaps we should have drunk one of the eighteen bottles of cider we bought at the weekend, but we couldn’t be bothered to get off the sofa. And so, twenty two hours later, I’m back to thinking about sleep again. I really must go to bed earlier…