There's work in the morning

I was sewing until the machine started skipping stitches. I fiddled with it a bit, got it better but not all the way, and eventually drifted away before frustration showed, when it was just the lightest breath of disinclination to continue.

Some time later I find myself on the ground, lying with the heat of the woodstove on one side and the dog on the other. The floor is filthy and I'm belly down, face turned one way to watch the glow of the stove for awhile and then the other way to watch Avallu dreaming. My hand is on his shoulder; his paw is on my shoulder. I know I need to shower and sleep so I can work the next day but the knowledge is distant. It doesn't effect me.

In a world with any meaning I would watch him sleep awhile, and then he would wake up and take the watching shift while I slept. Maybe a noise would happen and we'd hurl ourselves out the door, maybe grabbing boots and a jacket, to watch for the fox. When we came back in a few minutes later it would feel extra warm and one of us would sink back into a doze and the other into loving regard.

I'm typing so I can capture this tiny glimpse of how the world should be so I can go shower and leave that world, the world with any meaning, behind.