Sleeping feels intentional in a long, flowy nightgown. As much as I loved the big t-shirt of yore, wearing one to bed now feels akin to flinging a sticky hand around in court. Trying not to live life by accident anymore and it’s manifesting in victorian nightgowns.
My toaster is having a bad week so she doesn’t have the energy to hold the lever down anymore. Which means I have to stand there pressing it down for three minutes making sure my toast doesn’t burn. I used to take that time for granted, now it’s being robbed of me by my broken toaster. Trying to give her grace.
