(no subject)
My head is killing me and it has nothing to do with the fact that I was drinking last night. It's more the lack of rest. At least this time I had good reason not to sleep more than two hours, what with that whole mess in the chat and I couldn't think straight enough to mix a potion or anything to stop myself from dreaming. Memories and nightmares don't provide for the most restful sleep.
You know, I keep finding more and more to talk about but discovering that I have less and less wish to do so. My typist tells me that this reminds her of herself and that she refuses to let me become a hermit. Frankly, I have no plans of becoming a hermit, and I've reminded her that I do have at least one particularly good reason not to, but she seems utterly terrified that I might. A month ago, she might have had good reason to worry. At the moment, I'll stand the bad so long as there's still good waiting beyond it.
You know, I keep finding more and more to talk about but discovering that I have less and less wish to do so. My typist tells me that this reminds her of herself and that she refuses to let me become a hermit. Frankly, I have no plans of becoming a hermit, and I've reminded her that I do have at least one particularly good reason not to, but she seems utterly terrified that I might. A month ago, she might have had good reason to worry. At the moment, I'll stand the bad so long as there's still good waiting beyond it.