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The rooms are empty even though they have furniture, knick-knacks, books, and other signs of history. The dust lies thick, mostly undisturbed. There is no laughter, only the silence.
That would be a pretty grim thing to come home to every day. Thank goodness I’ve got the animals.
I’m finding it difficult to think of anything to write. Usually when this happens I type a few lines and then stop and stare at it. Then I erase it because it’s stupid. Then I would close the window and, I don’t know, watch a movie or something.
Last year when I was writing I would have moments like that. Instead of giving up I would push on. Even if what I was writing was mostly random garbage, I would push on. Sometimes it was actually kind of painful to keep going. Like being out of breath and having a stitch in the side but still running on.
Now, though, I’m just tired. It’s been one of them long days, you know? I’ve fed the critters, fed myself, and now it’s almost 8:00pm. I’m seriously too young to think eight is a good time for bed, but I do get up ridiculously early.
This is the time when having a life would be kind of handy. Seeing as I don’t, though, it would be a good time to write something. And that’s what this is. Because there’s only 30 days left. If this were November 1st, the game would be afoot!
But it isn’t. Phew. But, really, I have nothing profound tonight. Or even silly. So… there you go.

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