If I had a choice, that would be my lunch. As it stands (or as I sit) lunch is beetroot soup. It’s good soup, I really can’t knock the quality of it, I just fancy a bit of PB&J.
After yesterday’s massive expulsion of energy trying to get as much work done as possible before asking for an extension today I have been unable to do anything. Untrue, I wrote one line that finished a section which allowed me to tick off one box. I wanted to or rather I should do five boxes today but it’s fairly safe to say that ain’t gonna happen.
Damn this apathy. It’s probably repressed concern for the cat’s pyrotechnic stomach – I woke to the sound of chunder, while I breakfasted she politely declined in favour of a bumsplosion, then before I left she reversed (cats don’t reverse btw, they turn round or fall over) between the recycling crates and brought up some bile that looked very similar to the parsnip foam I had once at a wedding. One of her eyes was a bit weepy but that may have been from the smell. She is a poor sickly baby. I am glad I can rely on my partner to fawn over her all day and try to feed her water and flakes of tuna. I hope she is well enough to leave alone for a few hours this evening as we are planning to go to the cinema. I have chosen to believe that she has eaten something foul and is not ill and will be back to her annoying face-poking-at-5am self shortly. After all, if you’re going to get up at 5am it might as well be in June when the sun is out.