Two thirds of this is factual, just so you know.
It’s not surprising I hadn’t slept last night. My sleeping patterns aren’t healthy, surely, but tell it to behave why don’t you. I drag my drowsy lump of a body up the stairs then to trudge along to my room with a defined yawn stamped wide on my face. It hadn’t been hot out today that I should be compelled to reroute to the bath immediately. I want to crash so badly. Just before I reached the door, I stop in my tracks. My nose twitched. Breath in again. Again, deeply this time. It’s going to rain. The fresh, untamed scent riding on the wind carried a whiff of smoke, but little of that. I’m torn: stay there statue still till the heavens descend in all it’s condensed glory or to just beat it.
Then suddenly … I wasn’t slumped with exhaustion that much anymore. Needle. And I need some thread. Why these odd urges come to me at these odd moments will forever mystify me. There was a small pile of undergarments to be mended. Certainly, they cannot wait any longer. Why me? Why couldn’t there be an urgent secret meeting of elemental magicians that I need to attend somewhere? No such luck. It’s getting chillier as I rummage in a quest to locate the clothes. Shivering in a wave, I changed into a stretchy black dress with these tiny white flowers. A lovely baggy sweater to top it off, got me some Proclaimers on the radio and I am set.
Ten minutes later and all ten fingers remained unbloodied, I sink back into the pillows and contemplate in my mind’s eye, fluffy Dalek shaped clouds. A strong compelling gust of breeze exhaled itself into the the cramped room. The effect of the Doctor regenerating some place close by? BAM. The Face of Boe is now telling the Daleks where to shove their extermination declaration which, if you know the identity of Boe, was pretty much in character. I laugh, a quiet sound, as I begin to drift along into that long awaited rest.
I was startled out of it fifteen seconds in that nice quiet place between a squishy pillow and myself. What now?
“You’re needed at work again, a huge shipment came in, they said,” mum’s voice sounded light-years away.
No rest for the wicked, as my gramps used to tell me. I smiled a sad smile and picked up my achy, creaky bones and hoped I was going to get a break in the next two months. Perhaps I am a tad wicked. I’m not going to say, leaving that for you to ponder.
Note: To certain persons (and you know who you are, luvs), I am not complaining about work. I needed to emphasize with a nag-factor thing.