The Arm of Peace

Last night was a little crazy. I had to finish off some stuff, pack and get organised for an inspection of our house that was happening this morning.

Given I had to be up at around 4.30am I really did want to be in bed early last night.


As it turns out, I got packed, helped with the tidy up (I get the fun job of scrubbing toilets, because that doesn’t make me feel like wanting to throw up at all!) and woke at 3.10 this morning, got up, put coffee machine on and lie on couch till it beeped at me. I don’t like early mornings.

Coffee poured, bags waiting at front door for my lift to arrive, I showered, keeping as quiet as I possibly could.

I was doing remarkably well, until I got out of the shower, wrapped myself in my towel, turned the light off before opening the door and stepping out – right into the marble mantle piece.

To be fair, its only been there for approximately 100 years, give or take. It’s also been in that exact same spot for the last 6 or so years that we’ve been living there. I’ve also never walked into it before, even when I’ve had to be quiet.

There is only so much stifling of “FUCK, that HURT!” you can do at 4.37am when you’ve been poked in the upper arm, very hard

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