Waking up in a room this large is downright unnerving. I'm absolutely certain it was normal once, but lately nothing has been normal. I feel as though we ought to be poised for whatever's going to happen
next, which is sure to somehow be even stranger than anything that's come before.
More importantly: I miss the coffee machine. What does one have to do around here to get hold of a really good coffee machine and beans worthy of use in it? Apparently whatever (or whoever) identified my possessions for transport to the resort town from hell did not classify it as "mine". I knew I shouldn't have used the
Torchwood business expense account to pay for kitchen appliances. (Don't worry Jack, it was only £199. Honestly. It was on the September credit card statement that came in right before we caught that thing with the blood that leeched all the colouring out of fabrics and paper.) I may have to take this up with the universe when I find where it keeps the Complaints box.
contemplative