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It is very late/very early when I write this. Alexander, our cat, wouldn’t shut the fuck up but I am starting to think he knew I hadn’t written my diary yet. You know what they say: a dog is human’s best friend, & a cat is human’s best frenemy. I love my cat, yet that does not exsue him of acting salty, precocious, or just straight up wild. On one hand he woke me up & got me to write (something I can’t even make myself do). On the other, he has no care of concept of the term “2:17am”. At least it’s a change of scenery.

I am writing this in the half-light of the bathroom, letting the low wattage nightlight illuminate these pages. On occasion, when I wake up early & can’t fall back asleep, I will turn the shower on for a moment and listen to the sound of the water. A few minutes of its consistent inconsistency soothes me. I am reminded of my childhood, where I would sit & listen, searching for that white-noise hum, letting it find me, silence me, stabilize me.

My eyes are heavy. They have adjusted to the low light, but they remind me of our exhaustion. I will return to bed, cuddle Marie, and let this Saturday wake me up slow.

It’s the weekend, baby.

I love my wife, daughter, sis, mom, & dad repetitiously



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