Dreamed of strange hotels and gentle blue-black beetles the size of your palm that sparkled in the sagebrush. Dreamed of shame.
I was an hour last for work today because my alarm failed and I didn't wake up until A. called me at noon. It was okay, though. It was not okay when I had to write on a cake and the girl was really disappointed with my relative sucking at it, I always want to cry and explode when that happens, the "... Oh." and the pout. And the reluctant "It's okay..." A British lady here "on holiday" cheered me up when I helped her find a cake for her daughter, though. It was no occasion and the daughter "just likes cake." The cake had cinderella on it because it was the only small white one we had in the case. The lady and I laughed about it.
It is strange that there will be no more dealing with cake soon. I've been trying to memorize the small things I won't have again; the feel of a donut. The twist-tie. The mop.
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