It is insanely hot in Singapore, or we were insane to think we wouldn't need time to adjust. The flat was baking hot when we returned, which made it hard to get to sleep, even with the windows open to allow in the musical sound of cats fighting outside. I woke at four, half my body's moisture sweat out of me, the other half drooled into my beard. Have you ever tried to wipe the drool from your beard? It's an impressively disgusting sensation.
I shambled to work, confused and sad. As I left Chinatown, a man spat on the street in front of me, and I lacked the will to give him a good telling off. Coffee didn't help. I ground my way through email after email, a repetitive task to read the constant repetitions of the same things everyone was saying, then at noon galumphed down to the post office to collect a parcel.
This was the first good news of the day, and it improved when my parcel turned out to be three parcels: Christmas presents from Sweden and Canada. I may have friends and family who aren't perfectly prompt with the post, but that also means Christmas lasts all the way to Easter. Hopefully my wife will accept that a round of French toast is a suitable substitute for an Easter egg. If not, I'll distract her by pointing out it's less than eight months until Halloween. Literally nothing can go wrong.
Tonight I struggled to think, to speak, to walk. I hope that doesn't mean that tomorrow I'll have similar trouble trying to eat, drink or work. We're also off for our monthly baby inspection, but the fatigue we're feeling right now, I must ask the doctor to give me an epidural to last the next trimester. Literally nothing can go wrong.
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