51/79: Twitches Get Stitches
Nov. 30th, 2024 06:23 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rejectomorphFollowing an evening nap Friday, I woke bout half past one and then spent another three hours in bed, catnapping a bit but mostly just tossing and turning and listening to my hamster brain run in its wheel. Finally rising, I readjusted to consciousness and fixed and ate Friday dinner for Saturday breakfast, which has left me tired again, and all I want to do is go back to bed and try to sleep some more.
I'm sitting at the computer draped with ineffectual fabrics, longing for my warm though recalcitrant bedclothes which, last night, tried repeatedly to strangle me or dump me on the floor, or to trap me and make me struggle desperately to escape. Fabrics are a problem whether clothing or bedding or window or floor covering, or towels or wash cloths, or upholstery— all fabrics have it in for us. The fabric of time, the fabric of the universe, the fabric of civilization; all are tattered and worn, none are to be trusted. And yet all I want to do is lie under my untrustworthy blankets and go to sleep and be oblivious to the dismal fate of all matter? Yeah, that sounds about right.
I'm sitting at the computer draped with ineffectual fabrics, longing for my warm though recalcitrant bedclothes which, last night, tried repeatedly to strangle me or dump me on the floor, or to trap me and make me struggle desperately to escape. Fabrics are a problem whether clothing or bedding or window or floor covering, or towels or wash cloths, or upholstery— all fabrics have it in for us. The fabric of time, the fabric of the universe, the fabric of civilization; all are tattered and worn, none are to be trusted. And yet all I want to do is lie under my untrustworthy blankets and go to sleep and be oblivious to the dismal fate of all matter? Yeah, that sounds about right.
