Ten.One Thousand, Seven Hundred & Four
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4:24am. Through the open window floats in the sound of the frogs and the rain. The rain. The rain. 
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Now, I am late on two deadlines. 
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What is the lesson in all of this? 
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It always feels like there is something else I need to be doing that is not the thing I am currently doing. 
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Dua Lipa over the rustling of the tissue paper. 
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I shouldn’t have indulged in this conversation but here we are. 
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Four hours of sleep is no good. No good at all. 
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He tells me that I forgot his jersey. That when I’m in a rush, I make a mistake. That his jersey wasn’t even in the drier yet. 
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What is it about this moment? I am realizing that it’s fleeting. That there are only so many more of these. 
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“I’m mossy. My brain is mossy.”