On a plus side I woke up at five. 

Did I ever tell you about that fucking nightingale who lives in my (very acoustic) street and starts going all at it at around four?

I have a splinter inside my trigger finger tip. It's so small you can barely see a tiny black point just under the skin and when I press it, I wish someone would hammer my foot during. This is all because I was playing with velvet grass yesterday and G said: Don't play with grass; don't you know sometimes you get puss-filled little blisters from it?

No, I did not know that. WHY would you? I love grass. Velvet creeping is my favourite. And it's not directly related to my finger, but if I am going to get injured from playing with grass, it will be microscopic and so painfully I am not going around the apartment looking for a needle and a lighter and courage to try and dig the damn thing out. 

It's five a.m. Need coffee to brain. Hold on.