9:11 p.m. Agent Tiff reports from the front lines that all is quiet.
Distractingly so.
This time last night there was a family band (and chorus) concert, followed up by a killer domino competition. Bedtime = about midnight? I simply don't know.
Tonight it's been vacation hangover. Might be that the sensation of floating will be gone by tomorrow, but I'm on no rush to feel it go. The longer it persists, the longer I can recall just what it was like to recline on a speedboat that's anchored against the soft flanks of a state park, in order to spot satellites and parse out just which stars belong to which constellation.
Sometimes the velvet-soft dark reaches of night, in the company of like-minded family, are a salve to what you don't even know ails you.
Plus which, Thing 1 jumped of the party dock. 6 times. Boy's got schteel in his trunks, is what I'm sayin'. Heh.
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Hope y'all had a great week. More soon.
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