Limped my way home after an attempt of completing the rounds. (I was one round short.) Decided that it would be better to drag the left leg and not pollute the air in the commute back to the apartment.

Hopefully, it would take care of the soda I have consumed in the past week. (Good luck with that.) And hopefully, I’d be drained enough to sleep at least six hours straight. In the past evenings, I’d be lucky to sleep for three hours. Even the cricket (or whichever member of the insect world) sound’s enough to wake me up after about two hours of sleep. It’d be hard to get back to sleep.

This explains the new pile of books. A novel for each night (or very early morning) that I find myself awake. I actually wait for the alarm to sound so I can officially declare it the start of the day.

By day’s end, I would have emptied day’s batch of coffee. That’s about eight cups. And I go home still sleepy dreading waking up at odd hours.

The eldest sister calls this aging.


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