He slept very well. Now he’s full of meds again but grumpy. He apologizes for being a grumph, but I sit behind him letting his back be a wall.
I’m taking the day off. The trip book is finished. Pages on sliding pages of plastic covered prose and images held together by screws whose threads don’t match. I’ve cleaned all the orts from that away and feel a bit triumphant. I have presents to tag, the house to tidy, and a mountain of my own clothes to take to the store.
Did I selfishly say that I was taking the day off.