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This got aborted right before any good bits.

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I’m really failing to get this whole blog-work-live-write balance thing down. I’ve been sick for a week and attempting to ignore it – tomorrow, the gloves come off. My immune system can hop on the train or get off the tracks, because I’m done molly-coddling its lazy ass. Next time we speak, I will either be cured or dead.

It’s been a weird week. I thought, for a while, that I’d forgotten how to walk properly. I kept thinking about HOW TO WALK while walking, and fucking it up. Eventually I realised that my shoes were just too big, but it took several days of secretly fretting over an imaginary degenerative disease and/or brain tumour.

(And a lot of comical duck-stepping and tripping over things.)

Walking, like chewing and typing and being awesome, is screwed up by effort.

Maybe it’s a March thing – this week last year I was blogging about breaking stuff and pouring coffee on my cereal. (My life remains a thrill-ride.)

Crap. Someone just gave me a paper hat and a beer. The live and work parts of the great pyramid have sensed my attention was briefly elsewhere, and conspired to rope me back in. TTFN, friends who live in the internet. TTFN.

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Writer of things. Annoyer of cats. Mother of very small dragons.

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