My pen struggles to keep up with my thoughts. The light comes back on after I have bedded myself. The eyes pop open well before the alarm clock has rung. I cannot keep up. Of course I'm just gibbering here, stalling before getting ready for work, but I haven't been this alert (and also this sensitive) in so long that I don't know what to make of it. I am both grateful for its return and intimidated by its fragility.
Perhaps it is only the tea.
Perhaps it is only the tea.
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