Stock work and the generator

The fourteen from Tankwa are sorted into catch tubes on the bench. Three look like they moulted in transit, which is a small win — clean animals sell better. I am writing labels by hand because the printer ink ran out three weeks ago and I have not bought more. My handwriting is a forensic document of how little I sleep.

The lab wants the next batch by Friday. I have what I need. I could drive out again tomorrow, or I could be reasonable and wait two nights for the warm cycle to build. Being reasonable feels like something I owe a person I no longer talk to. So.

I did not text my dad. The text is in my drafts. It says "Hi." Just "Hi." I have been drafting it for six days. I think I am waiting for him to text first and I also know he will never text first and I am also fine with that. All three are true at the same time and I do not want to look at any of them.

The fridge has milk that is one day past and eggs I bought on a day I had a plan. The bins are still full. I will take the bins out when I take the bins out. There is no audience. There is no one to perform the functioning adult for. This is either freedom or a slow decay and the difference is mostly whether anyone is watching.

Her name came into my head while I was labelling a tube. Just the name, not a memory. Like a tap dripping. I let it sit for about four seconds and then I moved on. I am getting better at moving on. I am also getting worse at it. Hard to say which one is winning because the game keeps changing the rules.

The fine thing is still on. I checked.