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I am crushing garlic with the flat of my knife. I am negotiating the train timetable. I am letting the old dog sleep on my bed. I am waking up fifteen minutes before my alarm. I am embracing the colour orange. I am harbouring sensible resentments. I am romanticising the lighting in petrol stations. I am cataloguing all the ways I can eat eggs. I am resisting the recognition of patterns. I am considering the implications of driving lessons. I am looking for messages in the dead wax. I am finding new ways to rearrange bookshelves. I am researching the correct way to flog someone.  I am ruining family parties on purpose. I am striking matches. I am biting the skin off of my bottom lip. I am thinking about writing. I am listening to old recordings of bluegrass. I am stacking objects on a variety of surfaces. I am worrying at the glue of my bonded retainer. I am kissing the old dog on the forehead. I am making the shapes of cranes with my hands. I am watching the interactions of neighbours. I am reminding myself of my favourite textures. I am donating books to the community library. I am setting an out of office. I am trapping my middle finger in the cutlery drawer. I am leaving requests in the endmatter. I am trying to soften my tongue. I am categorising my behaviours. I am devoting myself to imaginary saints. I am peeking behind the scenes. I am asking for anyone, anyone at all, if they'd like to get coffee soon.