It is really getting more then a little annoying that I cannot just seem to move the way I *want* to. Which was about any which way I bloody well pleased before. Now though I can't seem to bend, grouch, sit, hell I can't even *walk* normally or without problems. A problem I realise will only get worse and worse as time moves on and I get even bigger. Before I know it I'll actually be the size of a balloon and Angel will have to bloody well roll me everywhere
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"I *waddle*," I assure him with a sigh. "I walk like a dog and I look like the Goodyear blimp. Or-or..." I wave my hand around as I look for the words, "--- that marshmallow man!" And not the funny sort Angel told about back in the cabin. God, what I wouldn´t give to be back in that cabin again
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"Hm," I say, noncommittally. Because you over exert yourself, forgetting about the outside world and your own well-being when you get lost in a book all day and well into the night. He wouldn't eat or sleep if we just kept in a good supply of books - especially with a smattering of the trashy detective novels just for fun. Those are like candy for Wes. It's kind of cute watching him read those- But I digress! If we let him read as much as he wants, that little baby would starve
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