I feel like the cobwebs I’ve removed from around the house with my trusty vacuum cleaner this week have somehow taken up residence in my mind, because even though it’s not quite eleven, I feel tired and groggy, as if my thoughts are as shrouded in spider silk and dust as the legs of the bar stools were before I went on my mad cleaning adventure.

The house is all sparkling clean, but I’m feeling muted and muzzy and I think I might actually turn out the light a bit earlier than usual, not even read before going to sleep, just curl up with the dogs.

It’s chilly in my room, but I like that. The heat is technically on, but the temperature is turned down pretty low because I don’t like to wake up hot, and I have flannel sheets on the bed, and the dogs are sweetly curled up on Fuzzy’s pillow.

I miss Fuzzy.

And the cobwebs are like gauze stretching from wakefulness into sleep.