cromnac

My kettle always sings louder in the small hours of morning. I think it knows that it's purpose is to keep me awake. Diligent and dutiful like a red tin soldier, it does its job with a hiss and a shout.

An exam and a few hundred words away from being finished for another semester, I could probably get away with a little sleep, but then I'd be worried the kettle would feel like it's somehow let me down. Although I am having sleep-deprived, everything-has-consciousness thoughts so it mightn't be a bad idea.