Day three of the house-sitting job. Last night I drank myself to sleep for lack of anything better to do. Fell out of life around one-thirty in the morning, only to wake promptly four hours later to the alarm blasting classical into my right ear. Found a
dead mouse in the main hallway, its neck neatly snapped and no
blood anywhere: a
present to me from one of the cats. I gave it an honerable burial mumified in paper towels in the rubbish bin.
The house I am in for the time being is away from the city, and I now must commute double the time it normally takes me. Arrived half awake and still without a sunrise.
Work was better than it was before Christmas, but that isn’t to say it was enjoyable. Fatigue and gravity pulled at me throughout the day. I began to feel like I was wading trough a high tide.
Made it home to find another mouse, this one dispatched as neatly as the first. I have my money on the older cat, the younger one wouldn’t kill it straight out like this but would most likely play with it until it died.
I'm fighting the urge to sleep now only because I need to call beautiful girl and hear her again. There is currently a three hour time difference between the two of us, and I am left holding the slack. What kind of place is Vegas to spend Christmas with your family?
I've taken to turning things on the stave off boredom and loneliness. Electronics make poor companions, but I suppose its better than nothing. I would attempt to read but I can barely concentrate enough to write this log and my eyes are beginning to go wonky. This above all things is a sign to me that I am exhausted.
I hate empty houses.