Ten.One Thousand, Eight Hundred & Seventy-Four
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Morning fog.
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Out of office responder.
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Two cups of coffee that I immediately regret.
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The contractor is back to work on the deck. I read against the background noise of saws and hammers. Nothing new. There is always work being done. If not a saw, then a chipper or a leaf blower or a helicopter or a jackhammer. It is normal now.
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Gratitude for the ability to just sit.
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I do another count and realize I am short - that I will be really short if I do not go back and try to get them to play. I write a letter to parents in hopes they will encourage their children to come out. Try to reassure them that I am different. We will see.
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Appetite is still not the same these days.
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I see a calendar notification come across my phone. I am tempted to open the work computer but resist. The point of not working is to not work.
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Almost all done.
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The risk would be big, but so would the reward.