The feeling when you've got the kettle on and you're convinced it's too hot for a cup of tea but you've got the kettle on anyway and you grunt one moment, sigh the next for reasons that have nothing to do with age or infirmity or reality, and everything to do with your exhausted imagination and you put clothes on to get some food in from the supermarket and maybe catch a movie but you left with the food and without the movie and your hand burns from getting it stuck in the letterbox to clean out the junk mail and now your glasses are fogging up in the fiery watery air and thank god for the battered couch and Netflix otherwise your sanity would have surely gone the way of your whimsies and your hopes and your schemes and your dreams which is what you wanted all along anyway.
Yeah.
That one.
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