Stolen Day

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Goodness, how I hate days like this. Woke up late, much too late; well into the afternoon. Checked my comments and had a look over at Lee’s place, as I tend to do every day. Thought of working on a blog post or two, had some domestic matters to attend to, like putting together a grocery list, wanted to read and work on some drawings… but before I could get to any of it, a giant wave of fatigue just pulled me under, not two hours after I’d gotten up, and I barely made it to the couch on time before going out cold.

I vaguely remember having many dreams and waking up long enough to see Fritz lying on top of me, like a cute avatar for an incubus. All I know is that when he sleeps on me like that, he has a strange and powerful sedative effect on me. By the time I was able to wake up and shake the cobwebs from my mind long enough to stay awake, it was well past 11 p.m. I could easily go back to sleep and wake up again tomorrow — start fresh — but I hate feeling like a whole day’s been stolen from me. Once I’ve posted this, at least I’ll have some kind of proof that I existed today.

I just find it so unpleasant when I start thinking I’m a figment of my own imagination, don’t you?

Painting: The Nightmare, Henry Fuseli (1781)

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