I put it down to weariness. A series of weights that alone we can lift, but together cause us to buckle; maybe it’s the other way around. I am glad for Christmas, and my relief that my daughter retains the magic is tangible, but I am so tired. The day before Christmas Eve my Mum had her long overdue operation and she wasn't discharged until today, Boxing Day. I’m thinking I should have bought more drink.
I coast along on the kindness of others; the Tesco till attendant, the girl in the bookshop who admires the colour of my calendar, I have a feeling I gave the same one last year, the Starbucks barista whilst waiting on John Lewis. Or the family pet that sidles up and nudges you with his nose... he doesn’t know any better, but he looks happy.
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