A better day in the Macfarlane household. Holly’s sleeping soundly and quietly. One eye is still fat, like it belongs on a punch-drunk boxers battered face from a 50’s B Movie (every time I see it I want to do “something” to help it, I hate feeling useless), but it’s not irritating her quite as badly, so she’s been cheery but tired.
I’m glad it’s the weekend. I’ll have to do a bit of work over the two days, but psychologically, it being the weekend feels right after the pile of collapsed scaffolding that I threaded my way through the past few days.
A better day, even the clouds thought so.