I haven't slept. That wouldn't be unusual, but... dear god. At this rate I really will be blind sometime soon. I can't help but think of that 1890s pamphlet on the "dangers of onanism" and laugh in a kind of hysterical way. I suppose this means I'm going to become addicted to opium and alcohol and loose women and die alone of the consumption in an
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Oh, shit.
This was supposed to be locked. I'm, uh, incredibly sorry you saw that--oh god WHY ISN'T IT LETTING ME SET THIS TO PRIVATE?!
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However... as you're not here... I've been hit by a virus. Eros apparently decided to make everyone desperate for physical contact, and as he's the god of crazed hormones sex love, well....
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That's...completely irresponsible of him.
((Bourne told Canaletto to leave Jeremie alone and...you should look at that. I'msoevil.))
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...what did the bird mean by "murderer"?
((I just saw. OW. And now the boy needs a slightly-frightened-and-suspicious icon. Badly.))
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