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January 1st, 2019 - Weather, Or Not — LiveJournal [entries|archive|friends|userinfo]
rejectomorph

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January 1st, 2019

Same as the Old Year [Jan. 1st, 2019|11:58 pm]
rejectomorph
Maybe it was because I raised the thermostat to 68 degrees that after I remade my bed this evening to put the snaggy blanket that twists around my feet on top instead of the bottom and decided to lie down on it for a minute to test it that I ended up going to sleep from half past six to half past nine. I did wake up a couple of times, but soon went back to sleep. I had no idea I was so exhausted. But now I've got that brain fuzz that accumulates during an unintended nap, and it is very persistent.

It's very cold outside. The sky is mostly clear, though I can't tell for sure since I can't really see it with the bright lights of the city all around me. I guess I should say "city" since Chico barely qualifies for such a grand noun, even though it is now probably about as populous as Florence was under the Medici. It's built like 20th century American suburbia, which means lots of lighting and traffic and parking lots in lieu of civilization. "City" it is.

It's going to remain cold for the next few days, until a new storm system moves in, and then the nights at least will get a bit warmer. The rain will be making the mess in the ruins more difficult to clean up, a process which is slated to begin around the middle of the month and last through next summer. Crews are being hired to pull out the damaged trees (which is most of them) for from 20 to 40 bucks an hour, ten hours a day, seven days a week for the next several months. There is no longer any God in Paradise, apparently, but Mammon.

Still no evidence of any of my cats, and I'm running low on energy. I've seen so many photos of animals that they are all starting to blur together in my mind, and I'm losing the details of the particular cats I saw every day for years and years. I find myself almost looking forward to full dementia, so I can just forget the whole damned thing ever happened. But then wht dreams may come when we have not yet shuffled off this mortal coil?
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