(no subject)
Jeroen was finally, maybe, getting used to the babies. They kept waking him up with their crying in the middle of the night, and he was tired, but they were soft, and they were small, and he maybe liked them a little more than he had expected to.
They did not, however, play, and Jeroen would like someone to play with, someone that could move enough to tag, or could throw him into the ocean, or could talk, because he was getting bored with himself, with books and toys and babies.
For now though, he was in the rec room, gathering more books to be bored by, because at least they were something to do. He wanted someone to play with, yes, but first he needed something for six in the morning, when the babies were crying and he couldn't fall back asleep.
He had a pile of books around him, and was sorting through them carefully, making a stack beside him of the ones he wanted to keep. Every few minutes he let out a long exhale, a big sigh, even if no one was there to appreciate how bored he was.
They did not, however, play, and Jeroen would like someone to play with, someone that could move enough to tag, or could throw him into the ocean, or could talk, because he was getting bored with himself, with books and toys and babies.
For now though, he was in the rec room, gathering more books to be bored by, because at least they were something to do. He wanted someone to play with, yes, but first he needed something for six in the morning, when the babies were crying and he couldn't fall back asleep.
He had a pile of books around him, and was sorting through them carefully, making a stack beside him of the ones he wanted to keep. Every few minutes he let out a long exhale, a big sigh, even if no one was there to appreciate how bored he was.