As I work to get my sleeping schedule back on track, I’m reminded of how hard it is to fit everything into the period between when I get home from work and when I go to bed. I wish adulting took less time. Or that I had a Time Turner. Or a TARDIS.
Since the evening is getting away from me, here’s a First Sentence I wrote on June 10:
He wanted to break me. And he didn’t succeed, not exactly. Not all of me. But he broke something.
I don’t know where my mind was but it doesn’t sound like a happy story, does it?