My old dear housemate just lent me a book called Half Asleep in Frog Pajamas, which by all rights should be a perfect allegory of my life. I am after all half asleep, and wearing frog pajamas. The pajamas are a cheap silky set from Santamas, and I’m wearing them in a sense of vague protest because I’m not allowed to simply put my life on hold whenever I’m ill and grumpy. The being half asleep is normal.

The trick is that the book revolves around a stockbroker, so I’m really not sure how any of it applies to me. Maybe it’ll all make sense once I get to the part about monkeys.


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