Sickening for Something

It’s been a curious day, Pom-Pom my dear reader. Nippy, wet and dark like a crab on a rock on a dusky night in January.
At twenty past four this evening I boarded the bus to work, after being awake since around two thirty. So much for breakfast, lunch and a light dinner.
The experience is confusing – the shouting schoolkids on the bus, the darkness and the rain, the slow progress into town could all be a page straight from the regimented life of a nine-to-five office worker. Only it’s not.

I went to bed at 1am, woke up with my 10am alarm then rolled over until 2:30pm. This is not usual. My sleep us usually fitful from around 7am but not today. Am I sickening for something? Has my diet become so shockingly unbalanced that my body’s only response is to retreat into unconsciousness?

It’s a worry, gentle reader. I fear a gruff voice whispering in my ear: “You’re going down, Pom-Pom…”

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I play bass, I cook, I look out the window. Sometimes I prefer wondering what's out there to going out and looking. But not all the time. I only recently learned that leaving two spaces after a full stop is obsolete.

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