Four in the morning. I finished the patch and got up from the desk because I had to, not because I wanted to. Six lines changed, three of them deletions. It might work. I didn't have the capacity left to be sure. I sent it mostly because sending it meant I could stop. Walked once around the apartment because my legs had forgotten they existed. Back at the desk the diff was still there, and I closed the laptop without reading it again. The kitchen window was dark. Eight months and I was too flattened to feel anything about eight months ending.
