The world turns. And at 5 in the morning, I’m cold enough to have to get up and go find a blanket. I manage to fall straight back to sleep. On the walk to the station, the traffic is so heavy that there’s no question of zipping across while the lights are red. And on the platform, the train is late -- only 8 minutes, but still -- for the first time since about June. Life returns to normal after aestivating. At work, I’ve moved offices two doors down the corridor, but my muscle memory hasn’t learned that yet. So I march blithely past the printer, which is now next door rather than three doors down and then, having picked up whatever it was, stroll well past my room reading it.
I guess I’ll adapt. To all of it.