My Friday Night: It’s a party life.

Deep damp bone ache.
Tired. Wired. Thirsty. Cold.
Dishes: done.
Son: abed.
Work: still whirring away in the back of my mind.
Son sings, not yet asleep. The sound of sock feet thumping the wall is a very particular one, which I’ll likely be able to recognize until my last breath.
Hot hard buzzing ache.
Sitting hurts, walking hurts, standing hurts.
Next: hot bath, Bailey’s-laced tea, book.
This will last a collective fifteen minutes until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer.
It’s 8:55pm on a Friday night.
Laundry hamper: overflowing.
Floor: crunchy and sticky.
Son has now been quiet for four minutes and counting. It is almost safe to start filling the tub.
Pulsing, stiff, creaking ache.
Grueling week: now over.
Grueling weekend: about to begin.

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