Bloody Wilbur. Every morning he wakes me up between 4 and 5 with his front paws on the mattress, and I lift his carcass up off the floor onto the bed. I sleep until 6.30 - but he's getting up earlier and earlier as he equates morning with breakfast. He sits up pawing my head, then jumps off the bed, and in the darkness he paces up and down, claws pattering on the wooden floor, pushes open the anteroom door which creaks louder than I'd like, and he continues pattering around with an added whine.
The earlier he gets up the quicker he gets breakfast - dog brain.
So we are trying to give the dogs breakfast later and later in the mornings - usually after 8am. Of course being a dog, Wilbur sleeps for 15 hours a day and goes straight back to sleep, leaving me ever exhausted to stumble through the day like the cantankerous zombie I am. Once I'm up I can't get back to sleep until night. I have a neck and shoulder problem too - goes up to the temples too, and tinnitus. Cranky old bastard already.
I've got work coming in as well. Nice jobs. I can't kickstart myself to do anything about them. I have no incentive whatsoever to start a new project. I have to be realistic about what I can manage though.
Rupaul is on in the other room. Very loud and bright. I'm really not in the Drag Race space today.
I need to buy a chicken later.
That's where I'm at: chicken purchasing. That is all I'm capable of. It is at least an achievable task.
Inertia has set in. Executive functions are offline. Someone else can do things. The light is very dim in me today. It is emergency lighting.
Chicken purchasing and blogging is however multi-tasking in a way. Maybe I'm over-achieving?
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