Sleep is for the dead and I’m not dead yet.

I’m making a pork roast. I’ve invited people. There’s football and the air is cold. I even have a pumpkin spice candle burning. 

Today I’m a 60’s housewife. The house smells amazing, it’s clean and thankfully the child is being well behaved. 

But… I want to sleep. I’m dreading the company, the candle smells too strong. I don’t even want pork for dinner. It’s too cold outside but I sit out here and chain smoke anyways. I should probably shower. Maybe I’ll skip washing my hair. I just want to sleep. 

The only one who suspects is that damn cat. He hasn’t left me alone all week. Which is good because I probably should be left alone. 

I want to crawl under the floor boards and just stop existing. Just for a minute. Ah, but the timer for the biscuits just went off. And the potatoes need to be put on. And I really should shower. 


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